


The Rules of the New Year

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I am still trying to be funny, Jaime thinks they are, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, Romance, SO MUCH BANTER, You Have Been Warned, apparently every party I write about is an orgy in Westeros, because Wacky writes no smut, but not in the way you may think, champagne pyramids, considerably longshot for what once was intended as a maybe 8k piece, ice cubes in delicate regions, it is known, like seriously, lots of JB banter, no smut in my fics because I am unable, so many tags so little time, so you won't find it here either, well I tried at least, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Jaime comes home to a big surprise.Only to meet event manager Brienne of Tarth.Misunderstandings. Complications. Power outages. Champagne pyramids. Glow sticks.And a firework. Well, obviously.I suck at summaries, goodbye.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaimeandBrienneOTP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaimeandBrienneOTP/gifts).



> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thank you for looking into this story despite the fact that it's way past New Year's Eve by now - but I did start writing for that occasion, I just didn't get to finish it until now. 
> 
> I gift this to JaimeandBrienneOTP, because she prompted the idea of a New Year's Eve fic, for which I am ever the more grateful and apologetic for being that late, LOL. 
> 
> As always: Wacky no native. Wacky no beta. Wacky owns all mistakes safe for those Wacky blames the teachers for. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy anyway! 
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

Jaime fumbles with his keys to his apartment, growling to himself because one should think that after living in this loft for how long now? he would be able to find his key at once, but not so today. Or any other day for the matter.

New Year’s Eve – and of course, he had to attend some last-minute business meeting his father forced upon them all over at Lannister Corp.

_Well, at least it was over quite fast._

While Jaime could care less about New Year’s Eve itself, he has no intention to work on that day longer than absolutely necessary. Tyrion mentioned that they may head out to a party later that evening to celebrate. While Jaime would also enjoy a simple evening, watching the fireworks on TV while drinking a good drop of wine and enjoying a fine meal, going to a club is not the almost bad either.

Something to take his mind away from business and the family being annoying as ever.

At last the key turns in the lock and he can make his way inside.

The oldest Lannister son almost jumps out of his skin when he sees a young teenager with raven hair hurrying through his apartment, stumbling a few times along the way, completely ignoring him as he goes.

_What the Seven Hells is going on here?!_

Jaime already wants to take out his cellphone to call the police, but that is when he sees it before him:

Silvery balloons in number-shapes, festoons in gold, silver, and shiny red, his kitchen counter now functioning as a giant buffet… and a godforsaken champagne pyramid.

 _A champagne pyramid_!

_Who ever thought of such a ridiculous thing?_

It just creates a mess and it isn’t nearly as magical as people make it out to be. It’s just champagne in glasses, _by the Seven_.

Jaime snaps his head around while his mind works on the information, but that is when a tall woman with blonde hair rounds the corner, dressed in a marine-colored suit and crisp white shirt, with a headset attached to the side of her face. She looks at him for a long moment, but then walks over to him.

“Mr. Lannister?” she says, looking at him without even having the piety to feign shock.

“Uhm, yes, apparently,” Jaime replies, making his irritation and discontent no secret. “As reads the nametag leading to this apartment.”

“Your brother said that you would come by only later. We are not done yet with the decoration,” she explains, sounding as though this is something Jaime should know about when he knows as a matter of fact… that he knows nothing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Uhm, Mr. Lannister said that you would come with the other guests. I didn’t know that you would be home by that hour already,” the woman says, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, her big blue eyes starting to race.

_Her eyes are quite captivating, actually._

“I…wait, my brother ordered for this?” Jaime asks, snapping his attention back to the present situation.

“Why, yes, of course. Didn’t he inform you?”

“ _No_ , I just walked in on… _this_ ,” Jaime replies, gesturing around erratically.

“Oh by the Seven,” the woman gapes. “I am… I didn't know that you were uninvolved, Mr. Lannister. I was most certain that your brother would inform you about… well, hosting a party at _your_ apartment.”

“Apparently not,” Jaime huffs.

“Why do people always end up doing stuff like that? We have to know these things,” the blonde lady grumbles, her head snapping to the right. “Pod, don’t walk by the pyramid that fast or else you will knock it over like last time over at the Tyrell Party!”

She turns her attention back to Jaime. “I can’t even say how sorry I am for this. But your brother gave us the key to your apartment and told us that we should just set everything up today. He never mentioned that you didn’t know about the matter. I assumed that he informed you.”

“He did _not_. The little devil likes to surprise me,” Jaime hisses, taking his phone out of his pocket. “I will call him up right now. Hold on.”

The woman with big blue eyes keeps looking at him uncertainly and Jaime actually feels bad for her – after all, she can’t help it that his brother is a pain in the ass and thinks that surprise parties are anything to Jaime’s liking. But she is most definitely not at fault for doing her job.

The phone beeps.

“Pick up now, you little pest,” Jaime grumbles, still mentally berating himself if there isn’t a morally or legally justifiable way of strangling his brother to death for this.

He had told him, had told him specifically.

But of course… Tyrion did not listen.

_He never listens._

“Hello?” the younger man’s voice rings out from the other end of the line.

“There are strangers in my apartment that put up a champagne pyramid, Tyrion. Explain that to me. _Now_.”

“Wait, I thought you’d be stuck in that business meeting for the whole day,” Tyrion cries out.

“Seemingly not. Brother, I would like an explanation for that. Especially since it seems like you didn’t tell the people you hired for this festivity about the bit where it comes to my involvement in it.”

“I wanted it to be a _surprise_ , you know?”

“Since I, of all people, am so fond of surprises? Go kid yourself. Spill now, brother, before I get into my car, drive over to your place, and toss you out the window,” Jaime threatens.

“Okay, at first I wanted to celebrate over at my place, I’ll admit it.”

“What made you step away from that absolutely reasonable plan?” Jaime asks, sighing.

“My crazy neighbor, the bitch.”

“What did Lysa do again?” Jaime questions, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Tyrion found in Lysa about as much of an arch enemy as he found one in their sister Cersei.

“I told you often enough that she is whee-whoo-whee-whoo.”

“It has to get more specific than _that_ if you want to escape your death sentence.”

“The thing is this: Whenever I party, stupid Lysa Arryn, now Tully again, calls up the cops if we’re only a _little_ too loud, insisting that this may _severely damage her baby boy_ , who is what by now? Twelve…? Even if we all know that some party noise is the least of his concerns, still suckling on his mother’s teats, blegh,” Tyrion replies, shuddering. “And the cops always show up because her asshole boyfriend, that bulky red-haired guy who looks like a Wildling, _really_ wants to bone her, so he will do anything to please the crazy cat lady without cats. And I may mention that no one has louder sex than her, so _I_ should be the one calling the police, but I still fear that he will then ring on my door, naked. And that gives me anxiety.”

“That still does not justify your invasion of my apartment instead!” Jaime curses.

“You happen to live out of the district I live in!” Tyrion argues vehemently. “That Gingerwanker won’t come by your front door if we party too hard!”

“That is the best you can do as for reasoning?” Jaime exhales.

“You are my big brother and I love you?” Tyrion says in a feigned childish voice.

“You are so flying out the window once you come here,” the older brother grumbles.

“You can’t toss me out the window. I am your adorable little brother! C’mon.”

“Don't joke about the matter. I never agreed to this.”

“You said you were open to partying,” Tyrion argues.

“Not in my own apartment! Without telling me! There is a _champagne pyramid_ , Tyrion!”

“What’s the obsession with the pyramid?”

“They make a mess on the floor.”

“We already have a cover underneath, Sir, to protect the black marble floor,” the manager lady says in a meek voice, pointing at the cover that is indeed beneath the pyramid.

“Jaime, I hired the absolutely best event manager in entire King’s Landing. Ms. Tarth is an expert. She has everything figured out so that no damage will be done to your _beloved_ furniture,” Tyrion assures him.

“That presumes that I won’t tell them to remove the whole decoration and food and get the hell out of my apartment.”

“Jaime, the guests are invited!” Tyrion cries out. “You can’t do that!”

“Well, you could have thought of that beforehand!”

“But I am your little brother and you love me!”

“You already said that,” Jaime sighs in annoyance.

“That's the best argument I have. We both know you love me very, very much.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“What? But what of the party?”

“Figure it out yourself!”

With that, Jaime hangs up again.

“Mr. Lannister, I am _really_ sorry about this misunderstanding. If you want us to, we can be out within an hour, two at tops,” Ms. Tarth says, gesturing.

“No, no, you can go on to set everything up,” Jaime says in a lighter tune, offering a small, crooked grin.

“But on the telephone you said…,” she means to say, but Jaime holds up his hands to interrupt her. “Nah, I leave my brother to stew a bit. That’s the least of payback he deserves. Until I have thought of something more sufficient.”

“And you are certain?”

“Why, yes, sure. You already set up. The guests are coming. I am not that much of an asshole… _mostly_ ,” Jaime argues. “And it’s New Year’s Eve after all.”

“Alright, uhm, thank you. And sorry another time.”

“It’s not your fault, _Ms. Tarth_ ,” Jaime says, quite liking the sound of that name for _some_ reason.

“Thank you. So, if you need anything or want something done differently, just let us know. Now that you are here, we can make adjustments if need be,” she tells him.

“Alright,” Jaime says, nodding, before shrugging out of his jacket, surprised when the tall woman with blonde hair takes it from him. “We prepped up a bigger coatroom in one of your guest rooms so that we can fit all of them once the guests arrived. I will just take it there.”

“Ah, okay,” Jaime says, watching as Ms. Tarth whooshes down one of the hallways. He shakes his head as he walks over to his couch to sit down.

He might just as well watch the spectacle while plotting his brother’s murder.

Jaime sees Ms. Tarth coming back into the living room, only to pass him by with fast strides, crossing over to the kitchen, talking to a chubby youngster with curly hair and chef’s coat, who nods eagerly when she whispers into his ear. Jaime studies the young man for a minute longer.

_Oh, right, that is this Hot Pie guy, who won some cooking show at young age and therefore got big coin to open up his own catering service._

Not that Jaime watches those shows.

_Obviously… Though Chef Edmure’s Sea Trinity consisting of sous vide cooked trout fillets with celery juliennes, salted blackfish fingers with marinara sauce, and sea cucumber with soy sauce and wasabi, stood no chance in the finale from the very beginning. No one wants to eat trout._

The curly-haired youngster starts to whirl around the kitchen a bit whereas Ms. Tarth is busy by the fridge, having her back to Jaime.

And it’d likely be a lie that he doesn’t enjoy the view once she bends over. While she doesn’t have a very feminine figure, Jaime can see even through the suit that this woman works out a lot. Which is quite enjoyable for the eye after all.

_Because damn, does that woman have legs that seem to go on forever._

She turns around abruptly, grabs something from Hot Pie, telling her thanks before whirling back to the living room, over to Jaime, only to put down a dish with some appetizers and a glass of iced tea with lemon slice.

“In case you’re hungry, Sir. If you need more or want something different, either call out to me or just talk to our chef. He will prepare something for you in no time.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you,” Jaime says, already meaning to converse with her a little, when the woman is on her way yet again without further prelude.

“Pod, what did I tell you about the running?”

Jaime chuckles to himself, enjoying the truly delicious appetizers and the iced tea, which has _just_ the right amount of tea and sugar, not too sweet, not too bitter or sour, coupled with just the perfect addition of lemon juice.

If it goes on like that, Jaime may even find himself enjoying this.

_Well, Tyrion was seemingly right about that – she seems to have a really good team._

Jaime leans back in his seat, growing more and more intrigued with what feels like a small version of a comedy scene, the tall woman almost flying through his living room, carrying glasses on trays from one side to the other, only to rush back to Pod, who really seems to be rather useless, as often as she has to come to his aid, to then rush back to talk to the interior designer once she comes by to discuss about where to put up these flowers and those amphorae and these balloons and those festoons, and why not those napkins or these bowls.

_It is **really** fascinating. _

“I would want to have the lighting mostly in white, yellow, and generally warm colors. But no red. That always looks like Christmas or what you find down Silk Street,” Ms. Tarth instructs the man responsible for the lighting. “And don't take that prototypical sort of yellow, but more of an off-color if you have it. I want the golden decoration to get a nice, _natural_ glow, alright?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, once you are set up, we will make everything dark once to see what it looks like. If something is up, you can call me over,” the blonde woman says, clapping him on the shoulder once before she hears something over her headset.

“No, no, no. I said that you only come here one hour before. Mr. Lannister ordered a lion of ice and I don't want it to be a puddle with a kitty by the time the party begins… Do I have to remind you of the royal wedding last year, Sir? And how we did not have you fired when you delivered the thing by far too early and we had to get a replacement from another company…? I thought so. You will deliver it at the time we arranged, or else our entire arrangement will be terminated, I fear. I _am_ aware that you make the best ice sculptures, which is why it would be a pity to terminate our cooperation. But if you don’t get a handle on your delivery service, we will have no other way but seek alternatives… Yes. _Splendid_. It was a pleasure talking to you, Sir. I will see you in two hours from now, on the spot. Until then.”

Jaime chuckles to himself.

_That woman takes charge if she has to._

She looks around before checking her clipboard again, ticking off some things, scribbling some notes on the side. Her eyes fall on Jaime once. He smiles at her, but she turns her attention away at once, much to his displeasure. “Pod!”

The young man arrives at once, at first speeding up quite a bit, but once he sees her, slows down again.

She gestures at him to come over to her, which he does at once. She leans in to murmur something. Pod nods before dashing off again. Ms. Tarth rolls her eyes.

_Seems like that boy hardly learns._

Jaime is surprised when Pod comes to him.

“Is there anything you need, Sir?” Pod asks nervously, picking up the plate and empty drink from the table. “Oh, uhm, no, I…”

“I will bring you a new iced tea in a minute. Any more appetizers?”

“No thank you.”

Pod rushes off into the kitchen to fix some iced tea, while Jaime chuckles to himself that the woman seems to have an eye on everything – even on Jaime’s glass being empty.

_It is fascinating indeed…_

And almost endearing how she keeps tabs on him.

Jaime could _really_ get used to that.

“Here is your iced tea, Sir.”

“Thank you, _Pod_ , right?”

“Yes. So, uhm, I should be…,” the young man says, already meaning to rush off, but Jaime interrupts him, “Oh, one thing, though?”

“Yes, of course, Sir? What is it, Sir?”

“Come here for a moment,” Jaime says with a grin, gesturing at the teenager to come closer. “I would like some quick info, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, if it’s about the specifics of the party, you should ask m’lady ser, I mean _Ms. Tarth_. She has it all planned.”

“Oh no, the party is the least of my concerns. I don’t think I have much of a say in it anyways, I only donated the rooms. But I would like some information about your little party service here, if you have the time?”

It’s always better to have some information – _for later_.

“Well, Ms. Tarth opened it up two years ago. We were lucky enough that Hot Pie was looking for more customers to reach a wider audience so we fused our businesses to one, so we don’t have to worry about catering anymore. And of course publicity.”

“Oh yeah, the little muffin is a celebrity, I am sure, after winning that cooking contest, for all I know.”

“Well, Ms. Tarth used to have another party service back at home, but then moved away to start here all over.”

“Tarth, I assume.”

“Yes, she is the daughter of Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall.”

“Oh, nobly born… wait, _Brienne_ of Tarth, then, right?” Jaime asks.

His father makes a habit of it to keep tabs on royal people from back in the old days for some reason, and for even more inexplicable reasons, seems idly focused on teaching his children to memorize these things, too.

To the day, Jaime can name all noble houses of the old Seven Kingdoms with their individual banners and most important family members.

“That’s right.”

“But why does she bother working for a _party service_? She could lie around all day and bathe in Tarth’s money, no? As far as I am concerned, they have a great amount of family wealth.”

And for some reason, the image of her bathing in… much of anything… becomes ever the more intriguing inside Jaime’s mind.

“Oh, you would have to ask her. But Ms. Tarth is very… hardworking. She _wants_ to work and is very passionate about what she does.”

“I can see that. I didn’t know people took parties that seriously.”

Jaime never plans parties. If at all, he bothers to attend them.

“Ms. Tarth has high standards, which is why people are eager to book her,” Pod tells him with a bit of pride in his voice.

“I imagine.”

“Oh, I am needed elsewhere,” the lad says once his headset starts making sounds.

“Thank you for the info.”

Pod nods before rushing off again. Jaime chuckles to himself.

_The boy won’t ever stop running, as it appears._

Jaime takes up his iced tea again. This one _definitely_ has too much sugar in it. With an amused smile he eases back down again.

_So, Brienne of Tarth is his event manager for the night. That is good to know._

The next few hours are more of a rush. Doors open and close, people come and go, furniture is moved, lighting is adjusted, glasses neatly lined up, the waitresses and waiters get their briefing from the tall woman who seems to have everything under control, safe for her assistant’s running, it's almost like a musical play where everything plays out in perfect harmony, even without the sheets of music.

Then the delivery guy arrives with the ice sculpture. Brienne fusses around that it’s set up in just the right angle to form a sort of triangle with the champagne pyramid. Jaime finds lion a bit over the top, but it’s really well done, he has to give them that much.

“I want some lighting on the lion so that the ice shines, golden preferably, but be sure that it’s away far enough so that the heat doesn’t melt the ice too fast,” Brienne calls out over her headset. The guy on the ladder shows her his thumb up to signal that he understood, instantly setting out to the task.

She looks around for a moment before grabbing her headset again, only to snap her head around to Pod.

“Pod, where are the waiters at?”

“Outside.”

“What are they doing outside? The guests will arrive soon enough.”

“I suppose some of them are smoking?”

“Great,” Brienne says, rolling her eyes. “Okay, give them five more minutes. If they don’t come back by now, you will head out and instruct them to come back in. I think we have that bit of a breather. And happy waiters are good waiters.”

“Yes!” Pod says.

The guy who does the lighting approaches her. “I think we’re set up. I will run a test in a few minutes, but… I have to answer the call of nature.”

“Okay, Edd – and too much information,” she tells him, offering a small smirk. Edd shrugs, giving her the remote, before heading to the bathrooms.

“… Pod, where is Hot Pie?”

“Out by the truck. He needed to get some herb he forgot to take along.”

“Alright,” Brienne says, glancing back at her clipboard. “Go see about the waiters now.”

Pod nods erratically before heading out again. She ticks some more boxes while walking over to the ice sculpture, checking the angles another time.

“Well, seems like we are alone,” Jaime calls out. Brienne whirls around, seemingly having forgotten that he even sits there. She looks around, biting her lower lip. “Well, not for long. But that is actually not the almost bad. Then I can check everything one last time before the fuss begins.”

“You are surely well organized.”

“That is part of the job profile, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne says, looking back at the clipboard again.

“Jaime, just Jaime,” he corrects her. Brienne looks back up, studying him for a moment, before flashing the smallest of smiles. “I… alright, _Jaime_.”

Jaime chuckles to himself. He loves how she emphasizes his name.

“May I call you Brienne, too, then?” he asks with a grin.

“How do you come to know my first name?” She grimaces.

“Pod mentioned that you are the daughter of Selwyn Tarth. My family knows all families of history, you see. It’s my dear Father’s little obsession, among _many_ more.”

“Oh,” she replies, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, uhm, Brienne is fine.”

“I must say, it’s impressive what your team manages to put up in a few hours’ time,” he says, gesturing around. “ _Brienne_.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Brienne replies curtly.

“Jaime.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” she says with a small smile. “Well, this room is manageable because it’s not that big compared to, say, a royal wedding at the Red Keep.”

“You organized a royal wedding at the Red Keep? Wow.”

“That was our biggest job up to date, and likely the biggest of all times. It was… a mess,” Brienne snorts.

“It didn’t look like it on TV.”

“You watched the royal wedding?”

“Of course not,” he snorts.

“You did,” Brienne huffs, amused.

_She does have a cute smile._

“Fine, I _may_ have. But only because I was forced.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Brienne replies, and Jaime can hear the hint of sarcasm in it – and he finds that ever the more enjoyable. He already feared the woman was too upright to even attempt sarcasm.

“What? You think I am lying?” he teases.

“I am saying that this is not up to me to say. I am just… organizing the party.”

“We can speak openly.”

“Mr. Lannister.”

“Jaime.”

“ _Jaime,_ “ she exhales. “I just mean to say that I am trying to focus on this here.”

“Everything is set up already. We might just as well converse a little,” Jaime insists, nodding at the couch for her to sit down, though he reckons that she won’t.

“Nothing is ready yet. We still have a lot to do,” Brienne argues, tapping her fingers on her clipboard.

“You have food, drink, decoration, music, and light… and some champagne pyramid. What else would you need?” Jaime huffs.

“It’d likely take me ten minutes to explain that all.”

“Well, I am all ears.”

“I don’t think so,” she snorts.

“Oh, c’mon. I am sitting here around, all by myself and lonely. So you could spend some time with me. After all, I am one of the primary guests… and likely one of the planners, granted that I am the one donating the location… against his will.”

“It’s not long until the first guests will come. I am sure you will enjoy lots of company then,” Brienne tells him.

“Do I hear some underlying judgment there?” Jaime asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Mr. Lannister, I told you…,” she means to say, but Jaime interrupts her. “Jaime.”

“ _Jaime_ , I told you, I don’t judge, I just observe.”

“So you keep checking me out, too?” he chuckles with a dirty grin creeping up his lips that doesn't seem to go unnoticed by the tall woman holding on to that clipboard as though her life depended on it.

“… I observe everything to the best of my abilities. That is what I get paid for,” Brienne explains, readjusting some of the balloons.

“So you _are_ checking me out.”

She opens her mouth to reply something, but then swallows down the comment to focus on what is ahead of her, and likely furthest away from Jaime. “Oh, that’s not right. I told them that those amphorae have to stand closer together.”

She starts to walk when suddenly all lights go out.

Jaime whirls his head around in confusion when suddenly there is a squeal and a thud, followed by a groan.

“Brienne?” Jaime calls out, already getting up from the couch as worry clutches at him. He grabs into his pocket, fishing out his keys that have a little flashlight on the chain – and he is confirmed in his predictions. Brienne lies flat on her back on the ground.

“I told them that they have to put towels on the lower part of the table. Ice keeps melting at those temperatures,” she groans.

_Well, at least she is conscious._

Jaime rounds the couch with fast strides.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Did you hit your head?”

“No – I did enough sports to know how to fall down properly and protect the head,” Brienne says, wincing.

That is when Edd comes back into the living room in a hurry. “Shit, some asshole seemingly managed to blow the main fuse for the entire floor. Oh crap, are you okay there?”

“I am fine! Check on the junction box!” Brienne calls out, still on the floor.

“On it!”

“Well, now that we clarified that, I think it’s time to get you off the floor. Can you sit up?” Jaime asks. Brienne starts to straighten up, seemingly very surprised when she feels his hand on her back, helping her into a sitting position.

“Dizzy?”

“I told you I didn't hit my head,” she grumbles.

“Let’s get you over to the couch, then, c’mon. Marble floors tend to be hard.”

“No kidding,” she snorts.

Jaime grabs holds out his hand to her. Brienne grabs it with both of hers after a moment of reluctance. Jaime pulls her up with one stroke, his free hand instinctively wrapping around her back to support her.

“Normally, guys fail at that,” Brienne jokes weakly.

“I am not like most men,” Jaime says with a grin. “And just so that you know, _I_ am strong enough.”

“Aha,” she replies uncertainly.

He helps her over to the couch and sits her down. As if on cue, that is the moment the lights go back on.

“Ah, thank the Seven. It would have been a disaster if the lights had stayed out,” Brienne exhales with relief flooding her voice.

“Focus on yourself for a second, Princess.”

“Princess, _really_?”

“Is there some other title you would prefer?” Jaime questions with a small grin.

“Ms. Tarth or Brienne are more than sufficient, I believe.”

“Do you have backpains, _Brienne_?” Jaime asks.

“No.”

“Stiff neck?”

“No. It’s alright.”

“Well, I guess that is the former EMT speaking within me,” he chuckles softly.

“You’re an EMT?”

“Long story short – I did that as part of my military duty, pretty much.”

“Ah.”

“Well, I suppose you will get yourself quite a few bruises from that fall,” he tells her with a sympathetic grimace.

“I fear so, too,” Brienne says, rolling her shoulders, only to wince at the motion.

“I can get you an ice pack if you liked? I have some in my fridge, unless you emptied it all out to make room for the champagne.”

“I am fine,” she insists, already meaning to stand, but Jaime traps her between his outstretched arms to either side of her body. “Give yourself five minutes. Sometimes you don’t feel something until the adrenaline wears down. Might be you hit your head after all – and just didn’t feel it.”

“I am aware, but I know…,” she means to say, but Jaime is having none of it, “The former EMT is speaking.”

“I was concussed before, I know what that feels like.”

“Hey, just don’t complain to me when you faint into my arms,” he warns her.

“I will _not_ faint into your arms,” she argues, rolling her eyes.

“Well, if you faint, I’ll make sure to catch you. So there is that,” he says, winking at her.

“I will not faint,” she grounds out.

“Oh, and in case I have to remind you, you said that if I have request, I should come to you. That is my _request_.”

“That is pretty cheap, just so that you know,” she huffs.

“So long it works, what do I care?” he smirks.

Brienne looks at him with a more than quizzical look that doesn’t seem to be the result of the fall alone.

“Well, I guess five minutes can’t harm.”

“I am glad to hear that you agree with me,” Jaime chimes.

“My lady ser! I mean Ms. Tarth! Are you okay? Edd said that you got hurt!” Pod shouts once he maneuvers over to them.

Brienne turns to him, offering a reassuring smile. “I am fine, Pod. I just slipped on the water. Now, do me a favor and grab some towels and a mop to get rid of the water. We don’t want the guests to slip, right? After that, I want you to get something to put underneath the table to soak up the water. I think we have one of those thick mats in the van. Those should do. And this time, _really_ no running. I don't want you to fall down, too. Got it?”

“Got it!”

“And check on the waiters another time. Not all are back yet. The five minutes are over. Or else I am taking their cigarettes away.”

“Yes!” Pod says, before rushing off.

“What did I say about the running?” Brienne calls after him. She sighs. “He is way too eager at times.”

“You never cut yourself a break, huh?” Jaime chuckles.

Other people would really take those five minutes to recover – not so Brienne of Tarth, as it appears.

“What can I say? The show must go on,” she sighs, offering a small smile.

Jaime smirks at her – and indeed it does.

Once it’s certain that Brienne didn’t severely injure herself, she is right back at the task while Pod is mopping the floor to make sure that none of the guests are sent flying. A lighting check, a music check, and an overall check later, the scene looks like it was cut out of a magazine. Everything shines in gold, and much to Jaime’s relief, this actually looks… anything but tacky.

Even the champagne pyramid is no longer as bothersome now that it’s part of the whole ensemble.

Jaime is pulled out of his thoughts when he can hear his brother talking.

“Ah, Tyrion, so you come by at last!”

“Brother! I am glad to see that you didn’t throw these hardworking peoples out.”

Jaime walks over to him with an obviously faux smile. “Brother _dearest_ , I do that out of respect for those _hardworking peoples_. With regards to _you_ , however, I have yet to decide how to punish you.”

“Punish me?”

“There are few things that make me mad, you know that. But invading my privacy is one o those things that tend to make me… want to do bad, bad things.”

“You seem to enjoy yourself quite alright for someone who is so against it.”

“Don’t try to talk yourself out of the situation. I am mad at you.”

“Everything will be forgotten once you have more alcohol in your veins. Alcohol solves everything!” Tyrion says, before walking further into the room. “Oh, this looks magnificent!”

“Mr. Lannister!” Brienne calls out, coming from god knows where yet again. Jaime lost track of her some time ago once she started fussing with the waiters.

“Ah, Ms. Tarth, I am happy to see what a great job you did.”

“Mr. Lannister, may I speak to you for a second?” Brienne asks curtly.

“Oh, uhm, sure. Go ahead,” Tyrion tells her. Brienne grimaces once, wrinkles her nose, but then goes on to say, “I just want to be clear on one thing, with all due respect, Sir: I do not appreciate it if people are uninvolved regarding an event hosted at their home. Mr. Lannister may well have called the police, believing us a band of robbers. That could have caused quite a trouble, unnecessary trouble for us, your brother, and possibly the law enforcement. If you wanted it to be a surprise, we could have sought out other options. So I would appreciate it, in case you want to book us again, if you shared such vital information with me in the process of the planning instead on the day the event takes place.”

Tyrion looks at her rather surprised, seemingly having been unprepared for her to call him upon it.

Brienne actually seems to be surprised herself, but doesn’t have any intention to back down now either.

“I was sure that he’d be out the whole day. My apologies, Ms. Tarth. I didn’t mean to cause you further inconvenience,” Tyrion tells her.

“You caused _me_ inconvenience!” Jaime pouts from behind him.

“ _In any case_ , I see that everything worked out after all. But you can be certain that this won’t happen again,” Tyrion assures her another time.

“Sure as the Seven Hells burn hot – because you won't ever throw a surprise party over at _my_ apartment again!” Jaime calls out another time.

“Alright, you said the guests will come in twenty minutes from now, is that still correct?” Brienne asks. “I just want to be sure that we have everything lined up by the time the first guests come in.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, if you excused me, then, we have to prepare everything for the champagne pyramid you insisted on,” Brienne says before making her way over to the pyramid.

“You _insisted_ on it?” Jaime asks in a demanding voice.

“They are fancy!” Tyrion insists, to which the older brother only rolls his eyes with a groan.

Soon thereafter, the guests flood Jaime’s apartment, and curiously enough, this starts to bother him more than it did when the staff roamed through it.

Before? It was all amusing, quite entertaining indeed, but _now_? Now, it starts to make him grimace and grip his glass of Whiskey harder than he normally would.

Jaime just has to look around to see all those faces he doesn’t know – or would rather not know at all.

And it pisses him off.

“Did you seriously have to invite all of King’s Landing High Society?”

“ _Of course_ I did. If we invite Daenerys Targaryen, we have to invite her entire entourage, or else she will be mad. And you know about the business ties to the Targaryens, they control the Essosi market after all. Then there are the Tyrells. The Tyrells are not really on good terms with us ever since… Cersei made Olenna mad at her… but Margaery gets along with Sansa, so I have to invite Sansa. If I invite Sansa, I have to invite…”

“Spare me the details,” Jaime grunts. That is something he always lets other handle. He is aware that those things are important, but keeping tabs on who with who and who not I just too bothersome.

“You asked,” Tyrion huffs. “Now stop being a party pooper.”

“I still have to decide on my punishment for you, you know?”

“Why do you still act like you are in a foul mood? You seemed _alright_ until I came in.”

“Which is telling, no?” Jaime snorts with a grin.

“I apologize, alright?” Tyrion exhales, rolling his eyes.

Jaime stares ahead suddenly. “Please tell me that’s not Toyboy-What’s-His-Face making out with Daenerys on _my_ couch. If that guy creams on my nubuck leather sofa, this year will end in murder. I had that friggin’ thing specifically crafted for my loft, and imported from across the Narrow Sea months in advance.”

“Yeah, they are wild things, not really in love, but horny as hell. Alcohol doesn’t help, I suppose,” Tyrion shrugs.

“You stay put,” Jaime snarls, before stomping over to Daario and Daenerys, grabbing one of the red satin pillows to smack in the back of the guy’s head, who cries out, “Heyyyy!”

“No hitting the pillows on _my_ pillows. You pull up your pants right now, fellow,” Jaime orders.

“I can do whatever the hell I want. Who made you my boss?”

“Because that’d be me,” Dany grins, playing with the hem of his dress shirt. Jaime tries hard not to roll his eyes.

_The business ties, the business ties._

“You can fuck her up and down the walls of your own home, if you happen to have one, something I am not entirely sure about. You can fuck her sideways in her apartment, but not in _my_ loft. My house, my rules.”

“But the dwarf said…,” Daario means to say, but Jaime is having none of it, “The _dwarf_ will likely not survive the next five minutes without going through an experiment where we will try to determine if dwarfs interested in dragons cannot grow dragon wings to fly as they are getting tossed out the window.”

“Dude, chill.”

“I _chill_ once you pull up your pants and removed anything that may damage my leather from that piece of furniture.”

“Wow, spoilsport and a cockblock,” Daario grumbles.

“Oh, and before we forget it, if I catch either one of you in my bedroom or any of my rooms making out, you will join my brother’s flight lessons.”

“You can’t do that,” Dany argues.

“Ms.Targaryen, I am aware of our business ties and I am _most_ certainly aware that it is important for both our enterprises to keep up the good relationship, but I would still appreciate it if you did not… do that in my home. I wouldn’t do it over at yours either. For that I respect you and your family by far too much.”

Dany grimaces, but seems to understand, even if begrudgingly so.

_At last._

Daario and Dany groan, getting up, fixing their clothes. From the corner of his eye, Jaime can see Jorah fleeing over to the bar to get himself a full bottle of booze for himself this time.

_Likely the only thing he’ll get to kiss on New Year’s Eve._

However, the oldest Lannister son doesn't really care, so he makes his way back over to the bar to sit down next to Tyrion.

“I swear by the Warrior, if someone ruins my couch, you will buy me a new one – and you will pay to have it not just shipped but brought into my living room via airplane.”

“That would cost a lot of money.”

“We know that money is the least of our concerns,” Jaime huffs. Tyrion snorts. 

“But it’s still a pain to deal with the customs. Long hours at tiny offices to fill out paper forms…,” Jaime goes on, his voice trailing off towards the end.

“True that.” Tyrion grimaces, then sighs, “Fine, I will do _couch watch_.”

“It’s the very least you can do to keep your head on your tiny shoulders.”

“Will you just keep threatening me throughout the evening?” Tyrion grumbles.

“If it pleases me,” Jaime replies with a sly smile.

“Ugh,” the younger brother grunts.

Jaime chuckles to himself mischievously as he twists on the bar stool to glance around his apartment. He can spot Pod rushing past guests with ease. Hot Pie does a little cooking show that makes a lot of people clap their hands excitedly, and the ice lion looks surprisingly majestic, even with the towels underneath it.

_But where is Brienne?_

“… Jaime?”

“What?”

“I asked you what you were looking out for. There is no one doing nasty things on your couch now, relax.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t…,” Jaime says, but then he catches sight of Brienne at last as she maneuvers into the kitchen to talk to Hot Pie. Once she is done, Brienne heads back out quickly, but Jaime calls out to her, “Brienne?”

She whips her head around, seemingly surprised to hear her first name. Brienne frowns at him, but then walks up to the two brothers anyway. “Yes? Is there anything you need?”

“I would like some company,” Jaime tells her with a grin.

“I am on my job, Mr. Lannister.”

“Jaime.”

She rolls her eyes. “I am here for work, _Jaime_.”

“I love it how you say my name,” he tells her with a quirky smirk and raised eyebrow.

“I you don't have any urgent needs or requests, I really have a couple of things to do, so I would rather…,” Brienne means to say, but Jaime cuts her off, “I wanted to treat you a drink.”

“They are for free, Jaime,” Tyrion whispers – rather loudly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jaime huffs. “What I meant to say is that I would like to have a drink with you.”

“I don’t drink on a job, ever. Sorry,” she says, but then someone seems to speak over the headset. “Okay, I will be right there. Hold on – and don't let anyone out until it’s clarified.”

She looks at the two brothers again. “I must excuse myself. Some people are fighting over whose coat's whose because they have similar looking ones. I have to mediate.”

And with a whoosh she is gone again.

“Yeah, no, you really don’t get to be mad at me anymore,” Tyrion concludes, watching Brienne make her way over to where she is needed. 

“Why so?” Jaime frowns.

“I know you, brother. You like what you see. So if I get someone to your liking on a silver plate, then you don’t get to be that awfully mad at me for a little surprise party,” Tyrion tells him, hugging his arms with a fat grin creeping up his lips.

“Hey, how about you make her drink something with me? Maybe that would make me step down from the plan of hiring a sniper,” Jaime suggests.

“You don't know any snipers.”

“Brother, I served in the military. I know a whole bunch of snipers,” the older brother argues. “Very discreet snipers… who can dispose of bodies so to never be found again.”

“But after that you stop being mad at me?”

“Most likely.” Jaime shrugs.

He won’t let him off the hook that easily. It might be that Jaime finds himself enjoying the in-between conversations with Brienne more than he ever thought he would, but that doesn’t make Tyrion free of the charges of violating his home with a surprise party Jaime most definitely didn’t agree to.

“Well, I suppose that’s the best I can get. You’ll have to give me some time, though. I have to… sound out the situation first,” Tyrion tells him.

Jaime furrows his eyebrows at the younger man. “Sound out the situation?”

“The working structures are key. We have to find opportunity. Oh, now I know. You are pretty, you normally don’t have to try to hook up with girls. The likes of me? We have to think about opportunities instead of just waiting for the girls to fall into our laps. You just have to smile and wave to bring the girls to swoon.”

“You find me pretty?” Jaime snorts.

“Ahaha, that was not even funny,” Tyrion huffs, looking around. “Who is her assistant?”

“The running back over there, Pod,” Jaime says, nodding ahead to where Pod is still eager to win a marathon, as it appears.

“Ah, alright. Let me speak to the young fellow. I will be right back.”

Jaime chuckles to himself as Tyrion makes has way across the dancefloor over to where Pod is standing to talk to the lad.

Normally, pride would forbid Jaime to even ask for assistance regarding these matters, _after all, Jaime Lannister does not need help with hooking up girls_ , but he had to realize now how many times that Brienne will keep ignoring him if there isn’t a reason for her to leave work for some five minutes.

Seven Hells, she likely could have gotten herself a concussion and would still go on.

_That woman is about as stubborn as she is organized._

He takes a long sip from his Whiskey, relishing the burn in the back of his throat, watching on with a grimace as the people start to get funnier and in high spirits, which results in even worse dancing.

The non-dancers feel enough confidence to hit the dancefloor with variations of the _Q-Tip_ , the _Roll-the-Dice_ , and _Tapping-the-Foot-out-of-Beat-Every-Damn-Time_.

The formerly girls-only groups will now also start inviting the men inside who feel like they are King’s Landing’s most wanted bachelors, when it’s pretty clear that they are no more than the warm-up until the ladies gained confidence to go after their actual, more handsome prey.

_Here is to you, Hyle, go on believing that the chicks are into you and your dance moves._

One guy who can do that one breakdance move he somehow learned does it under growling and howling of his friends, even if it looks… _shitty at best_.

_Oh, and there is What’s-His-Face again!_

But most of them will just end of snogging, Jaime is sure. For some reason, the parties in King’s Landing always seem to end up in borderline orgies.

Gladly, that is when his younger brother makes his way back through the crowd, resuming his seat.

“So?” Jaime asks.

“ _So_ , I think I got it figured out now. Pod said that they will do that thing with the champagne pyramid next. Brienne lets someone of the staff handle that. All guests will be focused on that, so she won’t have to think about people fighting over coats. At the same time, that seems to be one of the few slots before midnight where there is nothing on schedule. It’s a good chance, if you use it wisely.”

“Hm, sounds good.”

“I told Pod to send her our way because of something with the drinks. But that is as far as my wingman-ship will go. So you will forgive me now or I will be the one mad for the rest of the evening,” Tyrion tells him.

“Fine, you may be forgiven,” Jaime chuckles.

“Too generous of you,” Tyrion huffs.

A short time later, everything seems to work out just like Tyrion had it planned – because that is how it usually always goes. The champagne pyramid is filled and the people are glancing at the masses of alcohol as though it was the rabbit the magician pulled out of his hat.

_It’s physics, damn it._

As if on cue, Brienne whooshes back over to the bar. “Uhm, Pod said there were some issues with the drinks?”

Jaime simply holds out a drink to her. “It’s warming up, that’s the issue.”

Brienne looks at him for a long moment.

“I already told you,” she means to say, but Jaime is quick enough to interrupt her with a casual smirk, “No alcohol, just iced tea. C’mon, all are busy with the champagne pyramid of wonder."

He is pleased to see Brienne biting her lower lip as she mulls over the options available to her at this moment. She looks back at the pyramid, scans the room quickly, checks the clipboard _yet again_.

“Five minutes, c’mon, you have five minutes to spare,” Jaime exhales when Brienne remains absorbed glancing at her plan as though every second of that evening was already planned in advance, down to that very conversation and how to get out of it.

Brienne sighs, snapping the drink from him. Jaime chuckles to himself.

He always likes a challenge. And that woman is sure to give him one.

The young woman takes a swig, letting out a weary breath. “You know, that’s not as smooth as you think it was.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jaime argues, feigning innocence, gesturing at Brienne to sit down, which she does begrudgingly.

“Your brother talked to Pod to check for a favorable timeslot,” she says, lips still wrapped around the glass.

“Why would you think that?”

“Pod tells me _everything_ – and I saw your brother talking to him,” she replies.

“As far as I was concerned, you weren’t even in the room,” Jaime snorts.

Though he has to give her that much, she is not easily fooled.

“The advantage of such festivities is that even someone as tall as me who would normally always stick out will not draw too much attention to herself in such a crowd,” Brienne explains.

“That’s some wicked skill you have there, woman.”

“Years of training of being invisible.”

“You are hardly invisible, Brienne.”

Brienne looks at him for a long moment, seemingly mulling over what the implication of that statement might be. And Jaime doesn’t know whether to laugh at the fact that it doesn’t occur to her or just tell her that his implication was actually supposed to be a compliment.

“How is the head?” he asks instead.

“Will you just keep asking me every time you see me?” she groans. 

“Why? I show concern and that is how you thank me for it,” he pouts.

Brienne grimaces at him with an expression he can’t really put at this point.

_Confusion, is it? Irritation that someone would say that? Or care in the first place?_

Because Jaime is not very pleased with those options.

“I am really fine.”

“Which is a huge relief. Would be a pity if that was the first impression you got… well, of the Lannisters.”

“This is _hardly_ my first impression of the Lannisters, or you specifically,” Brienne huffs.

“True, you got to know me as the guy fussing over someone being in his apartment for no reason.”

“No, no, it’s… I have been hosting parties for your family a few times,” she explains.

“What? _No_ , you can’t be sincere. I would have seen you,” Jaime insists.

Of course he would have noticed her.

_There is no way around it!_

“I only ever saw you in passing, more or less,” Brienne assures him. “And one time really just your name on the guest list.”

“But when?”

“Well, the first time I was still fresh in the business at King’s Landing, so I had to do _lots_ of children’s birthday parties.”

“Don’t you like children?”

“What? No, it’s, I’d be glad to have children some time…,” she says, but then grimaces at herself, likely thinking that this is nothing you should drop in the first actual conversation you have with someone. “See, there is a difference between caring for your children and making parties for children not yours.”

“Obviously. One includes the fun of _making_ them… and the pain of raising them once they get difficult and you get difficult in turn.”

“ _In any case_ , the point is that birthday parties of that sort have one basic principle: _Everything can happen_. Children don't stick to schedules. Children will toss things around. Children will be impatient, direct, if they don’t like the act, they will simply react to that accordingly. They will run around, knock things over, eat the cake before it’s time, cry, yell, start a brawl… Adult parties are plannable in a way that children’s parties are not. You always have to try to foresee the unpredictable with children. I mean, obviously, you can’t plan everything. Look at this party – it was not exactly how I had it in my folder.”

“Yeah, us Lannisters are great at screwing up other people’s plans.”

“The point is this: Mostly, those things are more or less exceptions. For children’s parties, it’s the general rule. So, children’s parties are both where you start out with, which means that it’s the low-level job no one wants to do – unless specialized in the field, of course – but at the same time, it’s a strange sort of master’s class for event managers who are no specialists. So yeah, those things here are… _mostly_ easier to handle than children’s parties. And then there is the issue… of the parents.”

“You mean my sister.”

“I wouldn’t ever say such a thing,” Brienne argues vehemently.

“We all know she is… very extreme about those things,” Jaime huffs. “That’s a running gag in the family, and pretty much anyone who… knows her.”

Cersei takes it way too seriously with throwing those parties, or rather, having them thrown in her name. It’s almost hilarious that she otherwise has enough nannies – not just one – to take care of matters once the children get, well, _bothersome_ , but you bet that she will fuss over any birthday party for her babies since they were born. And for Joffrey, it’s by far the worst because she is so very eager to give him everything he wants, even if that means she just helps spoil the kid even further.

At least that is the impression Jaime keeps getting.

“She had _very_ specific demands and was not very pleased when I told her that a tight schedule as she had it planned would likely not work out for a children’s birthday. I was surprised that she booked me again for Myrcella’s birthday some time later the year, though,” Brienne says. “After that party, I thought she would never even consider our services again.”

“Well, that means you did your job outright. Cersei won’t ever tell you such, but that is her way of making a compliment, I suppose.”

“Well, that was when I came into the service of the Lannisters, I suppose. I kept getting more orders from the Lannister family.”

“So, help me out, which birthday did you host that I did not attend? I am normally forced to come even for birthdays I know neither my nephews nor my niece will ever remember.”

“It was Tommen’s birthday, and Myrcella’s in the same year. After that, I moved on to more adult parties because I had established myself a bit more firmly in the industry.”

“Oh, _that_ makes sense, now I remember. Tommen’s I missed because I was on a business trip in Dorne by the time, and when the family company demands it, you just have to go, no way around it. Even Cersei couldn’t get pissed at me for not being there. But I am pretty sure I attended Myrcella’s. I _should_ have seen you there.”

“I was mostly acting in the background. Pod is really good with children of all ages, so I tend to give him the lead a bit more when interacting with them.”

“I thought you liked children.”

“I do, I just guess a few are intimidated by me, especially if they are really small. Children are like that… one kid thought I was a giant and started crying.”

“Really?”

“Well, I am used to that nickname, but I was surprised the kid started _crying_. But yeah, the kids love Pod, so it was a true relief to leave that into his care.”

“I once made a kid at a birthday party cry, too, if that is you any comfort. The little devil kept kicking against my shin. When I asked him to stop, he said that his momma told him that I am a bad man because I am a Lannister. He kept telling me how awful I am until I told him that I am him from the future and came to show him how much he is going to suck in the future. He _actually_ believed that. I think it was actually sweet-not-so-sweet Robin, upon reflection. He also told me that he would fling me down some moon gate… door whatever.”

“That is rather awful.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean… you made him cry _on purpose_. That is awful. _I_ did it by accident.”

“That kid is past help anyway, Lysa’s seen to that,” Jaime huffs. “And to my defense, it’s not what I usually do.”

“She was the only one who requested a _milk_ -themed birthday party,” Brienne mumbles, her lips wrapped around the glass of iced tea as she takes a sip.

“Seriously?” Jaime laughs, wrinkling his nose.

“We had a guy in a cow costume, a milkshake bar, and an actual cow for the children’s zoo,” Brienne tells him.

“Well, not the milk she probably had in mind,” Jaime mutters under his breath.

“What?” she grimaces.

“Nevermind,” Jaime tells her quickly.

“Well, to come back to the original topic: I don’t think we saw each other at Myrcella’s birthday due to that, and the one other time before tonight where you were on my guest list was a bachelor party for some friend of yours, I suppose.”

“Oh yeah, right, that was… a mess,” Jaime huffs as the scattered memories of that night-out return to him. Gladly, what stays in King’s Landing mostly stays in King’s Landing, but he drank things Jaime wouldn’t ever touch while not that wasted as he was that very night. One of the most vivid memories he still has, because they are more than scarce, is that of Daven, due to some bet he lost, having to run down Eel Alley in only just his shorts, singing out of tune and doing _some_ kind of dance that normally should be forbidden.

“I remember that,” Brienne snorts.

“What? You actually saw me?” Jaime gapes.

Brienne rolls her broad shoulders. “ _Of course_ I did. The entourage was not _that_ big after all. You were all just dead drunk by the time you came to the location where we had set up because one of you seemed to have had the _fabulous_ idea to have a pit stop down Eel Alley and try out _every_ pub there.”

“After that night, I thought we managed to drink every bar empty on that street. That was no pleasant experience, the morning after, that is,” Jaime snorts, shuddering at those rather clear memories of spending most of the morning hanging over the toilet, begging the Warrior for mercy that he wasn’t granted by any means.

“It was not much of a pleasurable situation for us either, I may tell you,” Brienne replies with a smirk. “We actually had done everything as it was planned, which included quite a few interesting items on the agenda… but you all just lulled in the corner, dead drunk, so we just let you at some point and saw to it that all guests got taxis home.”

“Well, easy money for you, I suppose,” Jaime says, still mulling the situation over inside his mind. Because he really can’t recall having seen Brienne there. He would have noticed her for sure.

_Most certainly! How could you possibly miss that?!_

“ _That_ is true, but I do like it better when my customers are at least… _conscious_ ,” Brienne argues, offering a surprisingly calm and reassuring smile, even.

“Please tell me that I didn’t do anything awful to you, like… threw up or whatever,” Jaime says once it dawns on him that he may already have made a fool of himself in front of her right at that moment.

Because he can’t have that now!

“We didn’t talk, at all. You were totally out of it once you came in and announced that you are the new King of Westeros for some reason – and your brother said he’d vote for you… I only ever saw you walk in and then pass out in the lounge area. Since I had another party that same evening, I left soon thereafter and only gave instructions to my colleagues. I was only there to negotiate with the people that were booked for the evening, for the items we had on the agenda that didn't take place, then.”

“Thank the Seven,” Jaime huffs. “What a way to leave a first impression. But how does it go? _What happens in King’s Landing stays in King’s Landing_?”

“ _Something_ like that,” she chuckles.

_And really, she **does** have a vibrant smile that reaches right up to her big blue eyes. _

“So we actually met before. That is… _shocking_.”

“Not more shocking than seeing a bunch of grown men sprawled on a bunch of chairs and tables, hugging… and that one guy who could not keep his liquor down.”

“That wasn’t me, was it?”

“Not that I know,” Brienne tells him. "That guy was also just in his underwear."

“Well, those are the dark sides of your job, then.”

“I have seen worse. You see all kinds of things when you work in that field,” she says. “But I suppose that always happens when you work with all different kinds of people, which naturally happens during parties and other festivities.”

“Though I do wonder,” he speaks up. Brienne blinks at him, tilting her head slightly. “Yes?”

“Why did you choose that profession? I mean, for all I know, you wouldn’t even need to work, as wealthy as your family is.”

“Your family is likely ten times as rich,” Brienne snorts. “You tell me, why do _you_ work if that is so?”

“Because it is required of me?” Jaime shrugs. “Firstborn son. Family legacy. A patriarch who is way too set on his old ways?”

“That is the only reason?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Nah, I also can’t seem to sit around all day long,” he chuckles.

“That is the same thing for me. I want to do something.”

“And then event manager was the first choice?”

“Oh no, the first choice was… I think it was _warrior princess_.”

“Warrior princess? Now that sounds like a job that you should have gotten with ease,” he laughs.

“The reality is that I was too little of a princess to pass for one, and I was six or so,” Brienne tells him, rolling her eyes.

“I wanted to become a knight back when I was around that age.”

“I liked that, too, after I let go of the warrior princess.”

“So? What happened to that _reasonable_ job profile?” He smirks.

“It was more by chance, I suppose. Back on Tarth, my Father wanted to host a big birthday party for one of my uncles, and he wanted the whole family to come. And you see, we have many distant relatives. It was a huge thing. You must know, my Father is a stubborn man, so he wanted to do _everything_ by himself,” Brienne says.

“And you can’t relate that to yourself in some way?” Jaime teases. Brienne snorts, but then has to laugh anyway. “I may have picked upon that, I suppose. So anyway, a week before the party, he grew sick and couldn’t even stand up from the bed. So I took it upon myself to make the final arrangements… or so I thought. My Father is truly a great man in many other aspects, but planning parties is _not_ his field of expertise. He had forgotten half of the things you need, no decoration, the caterer didn’t know the menu… well, I managed it all, against the odds of the short time. So I realized I was actually… rather good at this. I suppose it comes to me naturally. I tend to stay calm when most others freak out. I may fuss over small things, I suppose, but not when huge chaos breaks out. That is when I am… most calm, actually.”

“Which is surely favorable for the job,” Jaime says, nodding his head.

“It is, it is. So… I said to myself… well, why not do something I happen to be good at? I found myself enjoying it because I was good at it, so I started my own small business on Tarth, and it worked really well for me. I got lots of bookings. It was really nice,” she tells him.

“And what inspired you to relocate to King’s Landing and start over? If you were so well-established back home?” he questions.

“Because I _was_ so well-established. I have the name I have, and it’s a big deal on Tarth, naturally, with our family being one of the oldest noble Houses that exist to this day. Also, there was a lack of competition,” Brienne says.

“Well, my brother would say that those are the best conditions for building up business.”

“I was aware of that. But you know… I wanted to… well, see if I am _actually_ good at it, and the only way to see that… is to compare yourself to others. I don’t know, the thought that I was doing something that I was actually not comparably good at… I didn’t like the thought. I always wanted to do something that I am good at, something I can be passionate about. So… moving from Tarth was the only way for me to achieve that, I guess.”

“So, out of the small pond right into the vast ocean.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, looking at this here,” Jaime says, gesturing around his apartment. “I suppose it wasn’t just your name that made you be successful, huh?”

Brienne says nothing to that, though Jaime can see a shy smile creeping up her lips.

He chuckles softly, opening his mouth in reply, but that is when the lights go out yet again.

The next thing Jaime knows is the sound of glass scratching over metal, the sound of glass breaking, Brienne yelping, then a freezing cold sensation spreading in his lap, and Jaime having to try hard not to cry out.

There is a moment of silence that follows, then Edd cursing from God knows where.

Footsteps, murmurs.

And then the lights switch back on, all people looking around rather dazed.

Jaime takes the moment to take a look at himself – and the glass of iced tea formerly in Brienne’s hand now spread over his crotch. Then his eyes wander over to Brienne, only to see that what is likely champagne dribbles down her face, her hair, her white shirt sticking to her skin as her chest is heaving.

“Jon,” he can hear Brienne call out with the kind of cold fury that makes even his skin crawl. A look ahead reveals the curly-haired Stark offspring looking at the two with wide eyes, the tray he likely held in hand before still vibrating from the impact of the fall.

“Shit. Sorry, I was just…”

“Do you still know what I told you about how to hold a tray properly?” Brienne asks coolly, though she barely moves her jaws apart as the blush keeps creeping up her face.

“… Not with the flat of the hand… oh SHIT.”

“You will work by the bar for the rest of the evening. Without trays. Now clean that up,” she tells him, trying her best to keep her voice leveled, though Jaime can see her eyes wander around the room and therefore see the attention she is currently getting.

“Jon Snow, you really know nothing,” a redhaired woman calls out, laughing loudly.

“Ygritte, you will help him,” Brienne snaps.

“Fuck!” Ygritte growls, stepping over to the dumb-looking lad, smacking him pretty hard. “That’s all your fault.”

Jaime can hear more murmurs, and then quite clearly Daario laughing not far away from him. The oldest Lannister son narrows his eyes once he spotted him, before scooping up the remains of ice cubes in his lap to expertly toss at Daario’s head.

_Three years of Little League ought to be good for something._

Daario cries out in a girlish voice, rubbing his head to get rid of the ice stuck in his hair, pretty pissed when Dany starts laughing at him. Toyboy raises his arm in Jaime’s direction, to which he only shows him the finger before hopping off the bar stool, grabbing Brienne by the arm in the motion. “I suppose we have to change attire.”

“Oh, I…,” she stammers helplessly, her blush now a vibrant glow.

“C’mon,” Jaime says before he just drags her along, ignoring the continuing murmurs and the squeaking sounds of their shoes as they make their way over to his dressing room.

If his father taught him one thing that he tends to take to heart, then it is that a Lannister does not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep.

“I hope you didn’t park people in the dressing room?” he asks through pursed lips, because the Seven may be with him, iced tea and pants don’t mix well.

“No, that is why we moved the wardrobe to a guest room. We wanted to be sure that your private items are safely stored away,” she rambles. “And I am so sorry for this. Jon is still new to the business and it was really out of reflex that I let go of my glass when the glasses fell on me. It was…”

“What did you say? Some things you can’t plan, huh?” he sighs.

Jaime maneuvers into the dressing room, glad to find it unoccupied _for real_ – because the Gods know people make out _anywhere_ because they love the forbidden.

_Or **something** like that. _

“Alright, you can just go to the other side of the row of wardrobes. I’ll hand you something over from my stock once I… took care of my pants,” Jaime announces.

“Oh, I can also, there is no need…,” Brienne stutters, but Jaime is having none of it, “Brienne, you either get behind that wall right now or I will undress right in front of you because it’s cold in places where it’s not at all appreciated. Your choice.”

That is all it takes for her to bolt behind the wardrobe.

He reckoned that she wouldn’t stay for the show, though he wouldn’t have minded.

However, Jaime cannot afford to waste more thought on this because he _really_ needs to get out of the wet and cold clothes. So he peels himself out of them at record speed.

“This night seems to be rather chaotic after all,” Jaime calls out as he pulls up a dry pair of boxers.

“One could say so,” Brienne replies hesitantly from the other side.

“I hope the headset is still intact?” he asks casually. Now that the icy threat is away from the region below his bellybutton, he finds himself calmer again.

“Yeah, yeah, I got a waterproof one after rowing regatta from Dragonstone to King’s Landing,” Brienne calls out.

“You hosted that thing, too?” he asks, impressed.

“Yes!”

“You really do any kind of event, don’t you?”

“Whatever our customers want,” Brienne says as though she was reciting a slogan from an ad.

“I saw that regatta on TV. Who won again?”

“Gendry, I think,” Brienne says. “I’ve never seen a guy row faster.”

“Right, that one. But why did you need waterproof headsets since then?” He frowns.

“Someone fell into the water, couldn’t swim, sank like a stone, so I had to fish him out. The headset was done for, so I had to call people on their phones and run back and forth, which did not exactly help. So I decided that this will never happen again.”

“So you tend to have your knightly moments after all?” Jaime can’t help but laugh at this.

_Some knights wear armor, others wear headsets and run around with clipboards._

“For fishing someone out of the water? I don’t think so. I am a good swimmer, naturally, coming from an island… and I…,” she says, but then stops.

“Is everything alright?” Jaime calls out.

“Yes, yes, it’s just… something dawned on me.”

“Which would be?”

“It’s one thing to slip on water when no one is looking, quite another when an entire entourage of people sees it, that's all,” Brienne says, and Jaime can hear the shame in her voice at once.

And he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Don’t concern yourself with the opinion of the sheep, as my Father would say.”

“The sheep are potential customers,” Brienne points out to him.

“The sheep not booking you for such a thing are idiots,” Jaime argues. “Those are adverse circumstances.”

“I know it’s risky to hire young people like Jon and the like, but… well…,” she mutters, and Jaime completes, “You want to give them a chance, I assume?”

“Yes!” she calls out, seemingly glad that someone understands that.

“Ever the more a reason not to give a single fuck on the sheep,” Jaime says, grabbing a white cotton shirt he reckons might fit her, just to round the corner.

Brienne has her back to him, and yeah, some bruises are already forming there, but such blemish is the least of his concerns as Jaime gets a moment to appreciate the defined muscles and the strong, broad shoulders – and the fact that she now stands before him in just boots, trousers, and a simple white bra.

Brienne turns around abruptly at the sound of his footsteps, instinctively wrapping her arms around her rather flat chest.

“I found a shirt for you,” he says, trying his best not to give her the kind of dirty grin that means to creep up his lips at that sight.

“You could have warned me that you were rounding the corner,” Brienne pouts, futilely attempting to cover even more of herself by bending her arms awkwardly, though that gives Jaime only more chance to marvel at the defined muscles of her arms.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Jaime argues, teasing. “And in any case, for matters of fairness, I don’t wear a shirt yet either. You got at least a bra to cover that bit. I feel _so_ exposed.”

“That is not at all funny,” Brienne grumbles.

“It is to me.”

“It _isn’t_ to me.”

Brienne mutters some incoherent curses to herself as she snaps the shirt from him to turn back around to put it on.

“Just come around so we can see about a jacket for you, alright?” Jaime says, whistling softly as he waddles back to the main part of the dressing room, all the while hearing Brienne whisper more and more curses under her breath.

Jaime grabs the next best shirt he can find and starts to button it up. He is halfway through with the task when Brienne rounds the corner, her steps as hesitant as those of a doe.

“I don’t think there’s a need for you to lend me a jacket on tops. The shirt is more than sufficient,” she says, biting her lower lip, making sure to keep her eyes down, and if Jaime is not mistaken, with but one reason – namely to hide the blush creeping back up her cheeks.

“I have so many that I could give it to you and I wouldn’t miss it. I mean, they are surely not perfectly cut for your figure, but they should do,” Jaime argues.

Brienne looks at him rather quizzically again. Jaime goes on to grab a suit jacket he reckons might fit her well enough.

“C’mon,” he says, holding it out to her to put it on. If possible, her confusion only seems to grow exponentially.

For someone as tough and organized as she is, Brienne seems to be rather clueless when it comes to those kinds of things.

Eventually, she does as he requested and turns around to slip her arms through the outheld jacket. Jaime smirks to himself, purposely stepping _much_ closer than he really would have to in order to help her into the jacket. And if he is not mistaken, her breath hitches once she feels his head near her shoulder.

“I think it suits you well enough to do for the rest of the evening indeed,” he says in a lower voice, on the verge of being a small growl. Brienne turns her head in his direction, leaving no more than a few inches between them, between her lips and his.

Jaime edges closer and he can see her chest rising and falling heavier the closer he moves.

“Yes,” she says, and Jaime believes himself at the final destination, when suddenly she turns her head the other way as she makes a step forward, gripping the jacket to pull it over her great shoulders. “Ask Edd if he can do something about the oven. It might be because of the power outage. I am on my way.”

Brienne turns on her heel, hair still shining from the wetness of the champagne, offering a crooked smile with the faintest of blushes dancing over her pale skin. “Thank you for the clothes. And sorry another time. I have to go.”

And out the door she flies. Jaime let out a growl of frustration.

_So close, so damn close._

He kicks the ice-tea’d clothes across the room with a snarl.

Jaime is normally _much_ smoother at this. Usually, he would be making her scream his name in ecstasy at this point, pinned against his wardrobe and himself, begging for more.

_But not so with that woman._

He takes a few more moments to calm himself before exiting the dressing room as well to return to the living room, where the party returned to its usual madness.

However, to his _great_ disappointment, he can’t spot Brienne anymore.

And to his even _greater_ disappointment, he runs into book keeper Samwell Tarly who “must” talk to him about some business issue despite the fact that this is a _party_ , despite the fact that his wife Gilly tells him to leave work aside, and that Jaime continues to groan for all to hear once he starts on some mild fluctuations in the finances that occurred to him when he wrapped up the report for this year.

_He even has a notebook with him. A notebook!_

“… after all, this year ends tonight, and this is the last occasion to clarify certain matters, so I wanted to be sure that you are aware of the fluctuations…”

Having no other choice, Jaime suffers through Sam taking out his little notebook to take him through the numbers not fitting. After a ten-minute discussion that feels like an eternity, the source for the fluctuation is spotted since someone seems to have ordered office supplies from a new brand that is apparently a bit more expensive, which was not communicated to Sam in turn, resulting in the change in numbers causing his confusion and seemingly utter distress about the matter.

“I am _so_ glad that we got this clarified.”

“Yeah, those three hundred stags would have made a _huge_ difference in the annual budget, I am sure. I am very glad that we have you in our company, Mr. Tarly, for always keeping track on our money that… _attentively_.”

“Oh, I love this job. It’s such a great thing, especially since you also happen to have records I was granted access to dating back to…,” Sam muses.

“Mr. Tarly,” Jaime interrupts him, planting a deft hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “We are here to celebrate. It’s New Year’s Eve! You should enjoy yourself and leave work aside, don’t you agree? And maybe dance with your wife? I bet she would _very_ much appreciate it if you left the work to the work, if only for a night, no?”

“Listen to the man, Sam. This is the one evening where Little Sam is with his nanny,” Gilly urges him.

“You heard your wife. So now, I will leave you two to yourself again. Bye.”

Jaime doesn’t wait for the reply from Sam and just dives into a small crowd of party people to get away from the man. Samwell Tarly truly is a great asset to company, and Jaime otherwise appreciates the man’s eagerness for his job, but he can do without that on New Year’s Eve. Specifically when Jaime has _much_ more urgent business to take care of.

_Such as finding Brienne._

“What do you mean you can’t fix the fuses?”

“I tried again and again. There seems to be a malfunction in the whole system. The house owner has to call someone from the electric utility to fix that. I can bring the light back once it goes out by putting in a new fuse, but that doesn’t fix the problem itself.”

“So if there is another power outage…”

“There is nothing we can do to prevent it, nope.”

“ _Great_.”

“Hey, I can’t help it.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean you. You do one fine job, Edd. It’s just… the last thing we needed.”

“Well, I have five more spare fuses. I hope that’s enough to make it through the night.”

“If not, we will have to knock on people’s doors to ask for new ones. There is no way of helping it now.”

Jaime turns his head.

_Found her._

The oldest Lannister son strides over to her, fearing that if he leaves her out of sight for only just a second, the woman will become invisible yet again.

As if on cue, the lights go back out.

“Edd?” she calls out.

“On my way.”

“Seems like my apartment was not the best of location choices after all,” Jaime calls out in the general direction of where Brienne was standing the last he saw her, making tentative steps forward. “But when does my little brother ever listen to me?”

“Seems like it indeed,” he hears Brienne sigh. Jaime maneuvers closer to the source of her voice, hoping sincerely that she won’t seize the moment to slip away again.  

“Though I may say that this is the first time this happens,” Jaime tells her.

“What can I say? Only I come to have such luck. Though that should teach me to check for that as well, as it appears,” Brienne sighs.

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. I bet the people don’t mind as much as you think they do.”

She lets out an unamused laugh at that. “Because having power outages is _just_ what people want, you mean?”

“What? Haven’t you played _Seven Minutes in Heaven_ back when you were a teenager? People _love_ it when they feel like they are doing something forbidden, in the dark.”

If Jaime is not mistaken, she is most likely rolling her eyes right now.

“… This is a catastrophe, no way around it,” Brienne exhales wearily.

“For that I was totally against the party at first, I found myself enjoying it _quite_ a bit after all,” Jaime reassures her.

“I can kid myself about alright, thank you,” Brienne huffs, having none of it.

“I mean that,” Jaime insists.

She wouldn’t know just how much he came to enjoy himself against the many odds of this party taking place.

“After you had one of my waiters set forth the chain of events that led to you having ice in your lap?” she snorts.

“Well, that was perhaps _not_ the greatest highlight of the evening,” he chuckles.

“Just my point.”

“You know, maybe you should just… go with the flow and forget your plan there for a second,” he suggests, stepping closer to the point that he can feel her body only inches from his own.

“The plan is the last bit that keeps this whole thing from maneuvering into a fully fleshed out disaster. I have rules and plans for reasons. In my experience…,” she rambles, but Jaime interrupts her. “In your experience, this doesn’t seem to work well for you at present, does it?”

“So what are you suggesting? Abort the mission?”

“Nah, just accept that this is not going to be perfect and work from there. You are fussing about something that seemingly can’t be fixed anyway.”

“Maybe not _fixed_ but _helped_ most certainly.”

As if on cue yet again, the lights go on right at that moment. All groan in unison as their eyes adjust to the bright light. Jaime rubs his eyes.

“Pod!” she calls out at the lad a few feet away from them, looking around rather confused.

“Yes?”

“I need you to keep an eye on the party while I am outside by the van. Can you do that for me?” she asks, giving him the holy grail of clipboards.

“Of course!” he tells her, nodding frantically.

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

“What are you doing?” Jaime asks in confusion.

“Helping the situation,” she replies with determination flaring up in her voice.

She walks out the door – and Jaime follows on the heel.

“And what are _you_ doing?” she grimaces once she notices that Jaime is tagging after her.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself another time while walking down the stairs?” he suggests with a grin.

“What? You do grasp the overall concept of employer and employee, right? I organize the party. You are a guest of the party. You should be… enjoying the party, now with light or without,” Brienne argues, shaking her head.

“Maybe I am just in dire need of some fresh air?”

“Which does not entail that you have to go with me?” she argues.

“Maybe I am in dire need of some company?” Jaime suggests.

“… You won’t go back inside if I ask you, will you?” Brienne exhales.

“Nope. Now I want to see what secret weapon you have in the depths of your van to control the chaos.”

Brienne shakes her head before climbing down the stairs, Jaime only a few steps behind her.

Once outside, they make their way over to the van. Brienne unlocks before crossing over to the trunk, quickly hopping into the darkness.

“So what is the secret weapon?”

“No secret weapon. And you will see soon enough,” she calls out from the darkness of the van.

“I imagined the van to be even bigger, as much stuff as you kept bringing into my home.”

“We have separate services delivering the big decoration pieces, such as the amphorae. As for the rest…it’s just the matter of having an efficient storage system.”

“You really don’t let anything happen without a plan for it, huh?” Jaime huffs.

“I try my best to stick to the schedule. That is what I get paid for. So the others don’t have to worry about it and can simply enjoy the evening, you see?”

“So you are trying to control the chaos?”

“Not _control_ it. Just… prepare for it the best I can,” Brienne says before appearing back in the shine of the streetlight, pushing two boxes to the front of the van with her foot.

“Well, life’s taught me often enough that you can’t prepare for everything. So I gave up on that a long time ago.”

“I _don’t_ think I can prepare for everything – but for the _most_ I can manage.”

Jaime holds out his hand to her. She looks at him quizzically.

“C’mon, wouldn’t want you to slip on the snowy ground here,” he tells her, winking.

Brienne looks at him for another long moment before taking his hand to then hop out of the van. She offers him a small smile and a blush if he is not mistaken, before she quickly whirls back around to occupy herself with the boxes.

“How about I take the big one and then we head back upstairs?” Jaime suggests, nodding at the boxes. “It’s freezing.”

“I am aware,” Brienne replies coolly. “And I can very well handle it myself, thank you.”

“Why else would I come along?”

“You said it was about making sure I don’t injure myself taking the stairs? Then that you needed fresh air? And apparently can’t do that alone?” Brienne points out to him.

“And what a way to ensure all of that by these means?”

“You can take the small one, if you insist,” Brienne tells him.

“I insist on being the gentleman to take the big one,” Jaime insists.

“We can now argue about who takes the bigger carton box or you can just yield and take the small one.”

“I thought I am your customer and that you have to fulfill my requests?”

“I am acting in your own interest.”

“And here I thought I would know what is in my interest,” Jaime snorts, way too amused at her resistance, which only encourages him to keep pushing now.

“That’s my job, knowing what people want and need before they know it themselves.”

“I am still pretty sure I want the big box.”

“Just that it's not going to happen,” she says in an almost sing-song.

“Are we seriously going to have power-play over who gets to carry the biggest box?”

“You started.”

Jaime laughs. She seems much more herself now, no longer as prim and formal as she was in the beginning of this strange encounter once he walked into his apartment today. And Jaime can’t deny that he quite enjoys that.

He _loves_ challenges.

“What’s your issue with me acting like a gentleman?” he argues.

“ _My_ issue is that _you_ are my _costumer_ , that you should not even be out here by the van, and did I mention that this is my job that you are trying to do for me which I cannot accept? Because _that_ is the issue,” she points out to him.

“As I keep telling you, you just have to loosen up a bit.”

“I don’t have to loosen up _at all_. I have to keep sharp and focused.”

“You make it sound like this party is a battleground,” he huffs.

“Because that is what it is.”

“It’s a _party_ ,” Jaime snorts.

“It’s my _job_. My job is not a continuous _party_ , it’s a constant battle against… power outages, lack of information, last minute requests and changes, delivery guys slacking off their duties while still expecting to be booked for the next party, waiters not knowing how you properly hold trays no matter how many times you show them, simply… life being chaotic. Oh, and of course customers who keep bursting the bubble I try to build up for the people hiring me for _just_ that.”

“Bubble?” He frowns.

Brienne wrinkles her nose, biting her lower lip, before she goes on to explain, “… Parties are like bubbles. They only last a short while, considering… well, general life span of human beings. It’s a single night… most of the time. Normally, it’s weekends, it’s when a stressful week of work is finally over. You dress up in clothes you normally wouldn’t wear. You turn up the volume for the music to deafen the noises of the cars outside. The light is dimmed. You have good food, nice drinks. You forget about how shitty work has been, how family has been annoying again, the kids, the boss, the weird cousin who keeps calling… all fades away. You enjoy yourself. You enjoy your little bubble, far away from world’s trouble.”

She glances back at the van.

“And for the bubble to make you forget everything else… it’s essential that you don’t see the strings attached. You aren’t supposed to even notice the waiters… normally. You are not supposed to think about how all the decoration came into your living room. Or how the appetizers looked when they weren’t yet cooked. You are not supposed to see us, doing our job. That is what you pay us for, that we build up this little bubble where everything is dipped in golden light and the fancy kind of air freshener you don’t even notice.”

“So I broke the Fourth Wall?” he asks with an easy smile, though Jaime can’t deny that it has something intriguing about it, to have her talk about her job like that.

Passion for your job is rare enough, but the passion Brienne displays for her profession surpasses anything Jaime has seen thus far.

“Well, that was impossible to prevent, granted that you walked in on us pulling up the strings, but the thing is that you continue to purposely break the Fourth Wall, for whatever the reason.”

Jaime just chuckles at her.

“What is so funny about that?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

“You really have to loosen up and cut some strings.”

“I don’t think so,” Brienne huffs, taking the big box.

“Hey!” he cries out.

“It’s freezing!” she says, echoing his own words from earlier.

“You are using that against me now in turn? How dare you?” he shrieks mockingly.

“It was not at all original?”

Jaime huffs, taking up the smaller box. “You are a stubborn thing, you know that, right?”

“I just don’t like to yield.”

“And you think I do?”

“I just think you don't accept defeat?”

“Says the woman carrying the heavier box.”

“Says the woman carrying the heavier box the man was very eager to carry to feel better about himself. Why shouldn’t I?”

“What happened to the bubble?” he teases.

“The bubble is upstairs, where we are heading to… right now,” Brienne says, speeding up a bit, though Jaime makes sure to keep up with her.

And up the stairs they go. Jaime is not surprised that the party guests don’t seem to have missed him, though he can’t help the pleased smile when Toyboy-what’s-his-face catches sight of him and ducks away at once.

_Good._

But it’s really as Brienne said: The show must go on. And the show doesn’t seem to require his presence at all, despite the fact that this is his apartment, and supposedly a New Year’s Eve surprise party in his honor.

Jaime simply follows Brienne as she maneuvers over to the kitchen to one of the unoccupied corners so that no one stumbles over them. And Pod is on their heels at record speed, handing the holy clipboard back to her, which Brienne readily takes to stuff under her arm, still preoccupied with the boxes.

“Report?” she asks.

“Uhm, we removed everything from the champagne pyramid to make more space for people dancing. The ice sculpture was also moved aside. And I think we ran out of Sweet Plum Wine, but I am not sure.”

“Good, very good. Thank you. If there is no more Sweet Plum Wine, just start circulating Summerwine. Most people can’t taste the difference anyway so long it’s sweet enough,” she explains.

“Alright,” Pod says, nodding his head.

“So now, the next time there is a power outage, you grab all waiters available and have them circulate these,” Brienne says, pointing at the boxes.

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot we had those in the truck!” Pod says, apparently knowing what’s in them.

“So, the next time the lights go out – you know what to do,” Brienne says, tapping the flat of her hand on top of one of the boxes.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, then see about the waiters so that they know what to do as well,” Brienne requests.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And off he runs again.

“What did I…,” she means to yell after the young man, but then stops herself. “He won’t listen anyway.”

“Will you tell me now what the secret weapon is?” Jaime asks. At some point Brienne still seems surprised that he is around, flinching for the briefest of moments once she hears his voice still next to her.

She bends down to pry one of the boxes open, fishes something out, and puts it in Jaime’s hand with a hint of a smile dancing over her lips.

Jaime looks down. “A… glow… stick.”

That was not really what he expected the secret weapon to be.

“Yes, a glow stick.”

“I somehow expected something… bigger and more magical, after that whole talk about the magical bubble, to be honest,” Jaime says. “This is actually a bit disappointing.”

“People dig glow sticks. I didn’t make the rules, but that’s just a matter of fact. Girls love it when they can make necklaces or bracelets from them, and guys… half of them will still try to pretend at least once that they are lightsabers.  It’s just the way it goes. The good thing for us, however? They will believe the power outages are now for a reason,” Brienne explains.

“ _Seven Minutes in Heaven_?” he laughs.

“ _Seven Minutes in Heaven_ ,” she agrees with a grin. “With glow sticks.”

And that is when the lights go out. Jaime can’t help but laugh out loud again. He bends the glow stick to make it light up, shaking it a few times so that it shines as brightly as possible.

“Not a second too late,” Brienne huffs, already digging through the box for more glow sticks and connecting pieces to make bracelets and the like out of them. Pod and the waiters come soon thereafter to hand out the glow sticks – and Jaime can’t deny that the party guests seem to enjoy it quite a lot.

“Seems like your secret weapon doesn’t miss its effect,” he must admit.

“We’ve used them often enough by now to know that this always helps. So much to how a good plan doesn’t do anything,” Brienne snorts.

“You are really stubborn on that one, aren’t you?” he huffs.

“Only where I have to be,” she says, getting up. “If you excused me now? I have some more glow sticks to hand out.”

Jaime wants to grab her arm, but misses it in the dark, and just like that she is gone again. He sighs, watching on as Brienne’s sentences become reality after all, as men fight each other with the small glow sticks as though they were lightsabers and girls have their fun with the glowing jewelry.

“Hello there!”

Jaime jumps, only to realize that Tyrion has approached him in the dark.

“Stop doing that!”

“What? I can’t help it that I am small and that you don’t see me thus… The party is a bit of a mess, but I find that quite entertaining.”

“You are just happy that you didn’t end up with the ice in the crotch,” Jaime huffs.

“Well, judging by the way you tag after her, your crotch needed the cool-down anyway,” Tyrion teases. “Desperately.”

“You are walking on thin ice, you know that, right?” Jaime threatens him.

“It’s dark. I have best chances to dodge a punch now!” Tyrion laughs. “But… where is she again?”

“Somewhere, giving people glow sticks,” Jaime sighs.

“But I bet you feel special that she gave you one first?” Tyrion says,  chuckling. Jaime looks down at the glow stick still in hand, huffing. “Ha-ha.”

“Will you frame it? In a heart-shaped picture frame? And… OW!” Tyrion cries out when said glow stick hits him on to the top of the head.

“I will hit harder if you don’t quit it,” Jaime warns him.

“My, my, someone’s in a bitchy mood. Hey, did you two get down to business in the van? I mean, took you long enough for a quick quickie… OW! Stop that!”

“I warned you.”

“You can’t be violent towards your own sweet brother.”

“Try me.”

“I can’t help it that you don't manage to get her laid… Okay, I know you will hit me now. OW!” Tyrion winces, rubbing his head. “Still worth it.”

Jaime sighs, looking at his watch, which gladly has light in it. “Hm, five more minutes until midnight.”

“Maybe there will be a New Year’s Eve Wonder and the lights will go back on at just the right moment?” Tyrion suggests.

“Who knows? That night is bonkers anyway.”

And just like that, the lights go back on.

“It’s a New Year’s Eve MIRACLE!” Tyrion cries out overly dramatically.

“You are really drunk, aren’t you?” Jaime snorts.

“ _Pleasantly_ drunk. Not too much to feel like throwing up. But enough for everything to feel like it’s wrapped in cotton candy,” Tyrion sighs happily.

Jaime scans the room another time, but no Brienne in sight.

“That lady’s a Houdini,” Tyrion snorts. “For a woman that tall, she can disappear very well.”

The squeaking shoes of her assistant do not, however, as Pod rushes back into the kitchen. Apparently, with the holy grail of clipboards in hand now.

“Pod, my friend!” Tyrion calls out. “Do you have a moment to spare for us?”

“Oh, uhm, actually… I mean, yes of course, Sir, Mr. Tyrion. I mean Lannister. Sir.”

“Tyrion’s fine. I told you. So, where did you leave your boss at? You seem rather fussed?”

“She went outside for a few minutes. To make a phone call. She left me in charge, as her assistant. And now I have to see that everyone has a glass of champagne within four minutes or else… not good!”

“Then we won’t prevent you from it any longer,” Tyrion tells him, patting his arm.

Pod nods before rushing off again, talking to the waiters, taking Jon aside to have him take up the empty glasses instead. Likely upon Brienne’s order.

“But she didn’t go through the front door. Or else we would have seen it open,” Jaime mutters.

“That leaves only one conclusion,” Tyrion says, and Jaime nods in agreement. “Right, the rooftop.”

“Three minutes. Not enough for a quickie, but… you know, you can lay some groundwork.”

Jaime narrows his eyes at his younger brother, but then turns around to grab a bottle from the fridge along with two glasses before making his way up the staircase leading to his rooftop terrace.

He finds her leaning on the railing, glancing down on the city, her back to him.

“Hey dad! I just wanted to call to… I told you I would. And I never once forgot ever since I moved to King’s Landing, c’mon… Ugh, I know that you’d rather have me back home for New Year’s Eve… I explained it to you. That is because that those are the nights that get us the best jobs. Party services are on high demand during the holidays… How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not about the money but about doing my job…? I don’t want to begin the new year arguing with you. So can we just put this to rest? Yes? Good. So, how did you spend the evening? Oh, that’s nice… I hope you let others do the fireworks this year… because you almost had one right in your face because you waited for too long before stepping away from them! I told you often enough that I can recommend you different services to have it set up for you. They… Alright, if you want to get one in your face, then that is what you are to do…,” she says, but then laughs. “Yeah, alright. Of course I will. I told you I would come once the season is over. I already have my ticket. Yes. YES. I will. I will. Alright, I have to hang up now. I really have to… dad! Bye! What? Oh, c’mon…! Fine, fine. I wish you a happy new year and I love you _very_ much. There you have it, I said it. Happy now? Okay. Bye now. _Bye_! BYE!”

She sighs as she turns around to lean against the railing, only to stare at Jaime standing there with wide eyes. “Oh, have you been standing here for long?”

“Only for the phone call. I didn't mean to interrupt you.”

“Is something wrong? Pod didn’t report, so…,” she says, her voice trailing off, big blue eyes even wider than usual. Jaime raises his hands. “No, all are happy that the lights are back on.”

“They are? Oh, good.”

“I didn’t think you were one to sneak away for the grand finale, I must say,” Jaime tells her, stepping closer. Brienne brushes a few loose strands of hair behind her left ear with a grimace. “It’s not really. Pod knows how to handle this. He’s done this for a good number of times by now. I trust him. And… the family comes first after all.”

“It does indeed.”

Brienne opens her mouth to say something, but then her gaze falls on the bottle in Jaime’s hand. She narrows her eyes at him. “… I hope you don’t believe that I will drink champagne now. I told you that I don’t drink while on a job.”

“Alcohol free,” he argues, shaking it lightly as he raises the items a bit higher.

“Really?” She makes a face.

“I always have a bottle in store. For my sister. I leave her under the belief that I serve her alcohol… she drinks much more than her liver can take,” Jaime explains.

“Family comes first,” she says.

“Exactly,” Jaime chuckles. “So? Alcohol free champagne should be fine, right?”

“You will insist again, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh well, then I guess I don’t come around it anyway.”

Jaime chuckles before starting to remove the foil around the bottle’s neck.

“What are you doing?!” Brienne calls out once he wants to pop the bottle open.

“Uhm, popping the fake champagne?” he replies with a frown. He thought that was rather straightforward at this point.

“That’s _not_ how you do it. It’s actually not supposed to make a sound. I don’t know why people do it, but that is what usually leads to the champagne spilling,” Brienne tells him.

“It’s _my_ fake champagne and I open it the way I want to,” Jaime snorts, letting the cork shoot halfway across the terrace, successfully knocking some small pot over.

“That’s what I am talking about,” Brienne huffs.

“That was on purpose,” Jaime argues.

“Why would you purposely shoot down one of your pots?” Brienne retorts, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Because it’s fun?”

“What is the fun of…? Don’t answer,” she huffs, but then her face goes completely blank. “Also, careful, the champagne is spilling.”

“Ah, damn!” Jaime cries out once the bubble liquid starts to spill out of the bottle.

“I will not say that I told you so, but I did,” Brienne points out to him with a kind of mischievous grin Jaime didn’t think she had in her.

“Only over the hands, not the pants. This is improvement,” Jaime snorts, handing the first full glass to her before pouring himself some as well, to then hold out to her. “I’d say we drink to yet another year of madness, bubbles, and champagne pyramids?”

“… I suppose so. Cheers,” Brienne says, chinking her glass against his.

“Cheers.”

Both take a sip.

“Not the almost bad,” Brienne comments. “I might want to add that to my list.”

“I am always relieved to know that I can be of any help,” Jaime says with a grin.

Brienne smiles at him briefly before glancing flicking her wrist around to glance at her watch.

“How long?” he asks.

“A minute from now. But… we’ll know anyway because the whole city will light up right at that moment,” Brienne says, nodding ahead of the skyline of King’s Landing.

“True again. So? Any New Year’s resolutions?” Jaime asks.

“I think those resolutions are stupid. Most of the time, once you make it your resolution, that is the moment you know you won’t follow through with them anyway,” Brienne argues.

“Hey, _I_ always follow through with my resolutions.”

“Then you are one among few.”

“There are no men like me after all,” Jaime says with a grin, to which Brienne only rolls her eyes.

“… And here goes the countdown,” Brienne chuckles once the people start to holler the countdown back downstairs.

_10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…_

_HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!_

The fireworks shoot up above them, illuminating the night’s sky in all colors, rich greens and reds, creeping along the sky like snakes, only to form flowers in the sky, over which then golden rain pours, dipping all of King’s Landing in a bright shine that is only surpassed by the noises of the fireworks exploding and shooting into the sky.

“Happy New Year, Brienne,” Jaime says in a jovial voice.

“Uhm, happy New Year to you, too… Jaime,” she replies hesitantly. Her gaze wanders back to the fireworks and her eyes seem to absorb the sparks, making them shine impossibly brighter.

And that is when Jaime has had enough.

He captures her lips with his before she can shy away from him again, cupping her chin with his right hand to pull her even closer to himself.

At first there is a moment of shock in her, that much he can tell by the way she moves against him, the quiver, the shaking, the push back, but soon, the kiss is fully returned to him, her lips meeting his with the same amount of eagerness.

Her hands come to rest on his hip and shoulder while Jaime pulls her impossibly closer to herself as they are bathed in the lights exploding above their heads, leaving smoke and the smell of black powder in the air, which only adds to the growing frenzy inside his head, longing for this moment to last much, much longer.

Her lips taste of champagne, and her hair smells of it apparently, too, and Jaime can still feel the sticky strands from the dried sparkling wine when he allows his fingers to dance over the back of her hand. Though that only adds even more intensity to his want for her, to taste her, smell her, keep himself wrapped around her.

He allows his free hand to wander down her side, tracing the outline of her strong, tall body, the smallest of curves of her hips that most men would not find appealing, but that are so very strong and muscular against Jaime’s touch that he can do nothing but to growl into her mouth as he deepens the kiss another time.

The small mewl escaping her is almost as sweet as the wine on her lips, but once Jaime’s hand ventures a little too low, Brienne recoils and takes a step back, chest heaving, lips red and bruised, her big blue eyes shining even more vibrantly in the light of the fireworks still shooting past above their heads, leaving Jaime with nothing but the want to just cover the distance to claim her lips again, but her expression prevents him from it.

She looks almost like a scared deer at this point, and Jaime is not entirely sure if that is just because it came unexpectedly or because she is… repulsed.  

“Uhm, Brienne, I…,” Jaime mutters, his mind coming back from the frenzy his body was in before.

_Maybe that was too rash a move after all?_

Jaime can then hear someone speaking over the headset.

“I, I will be down in a minute,” Brienne whispers before rushing off at record speed.

Jaime leans back against the railing, moaning.

That’s not how he hoped this would work out. In fact, his plan would be to still be kissing her now, and undo the buttons of his shirt now on her to no longer just glance but touch the skin beneath it, expose it to the lights of the fireworks still shooting into the sky…

_So much to that._

Jaime takes five minutes for himself, watching the fireworks exploding into blotches of color above his head, allowing the odor of black powder to flood his senses, before he heads back down, surprised to the uproar that awaits him. Most guests have gathered in a circle.

“Tyrion, what’s going on here?” Jaime demands, spotting his brother with ease.

“As far as I know, some asshole accused another asshole that he touched his girl’s rear, and now the two started a fight… ugh, what were the names again? Ben Bushy and Dickon Tarly, I believe?! Ha, Ben Bushy. That name always makes me laugh!”

“And the people are just watching?” Jaime gapes.

“Brienne’s got it, I suppose,” Tyrion replies, rolling his shoulders before taking another sip of booze.

“What?”

Tyrion nods ahead at the crowd. Jaime wades through the mass of people, not really caring when people push back or tell him to stay where he is until he made it to the front to find Brienne pressing her knee into one guy’s back to keep him firmly pinned on the ground while the other is being kept at bay by a very nervous Pod who seemingly hopes that the guy won’t just jump him instead.

Jaime doesn’t waste a second, reckoning Brienne’s got it covered, to back up Pod. “Fellow, if I were you, I would stop this right now.”

“I didn’t touch his stupid girlfriend!” Ben or Dickon – Jaime can’t tell those two apart – says.

“And I don't give a damn. I own this apartment. And that means that the both of you can now gather your things and head out,” Jaime tells him, taking a steady stance in front of the man.

“What?! I didn’t do anything!” _Ben/Dickon_ … _Dicken_? cries out.

“I don’t give a flying fuck. The only one who gets to beat people up in my apartment include myself and the people of my choosing, to which _you_ don't apply, either one of you. And while we are at it, I may remind you of the people you are working for – and in how far they work with my family’s company. So, unless you want to get your sorry asses fired, which I can very well make sure will happen with just a single phone call, you will leave the party right now without further incident.”

The two gape at Jaime. The one with the girlfriend gathers his lady along with the coats. Once they are out of the room, Brienne gets up from the man pinned to the ground and assist him to stand, keeping her eyes on the man at all times instead of looking at Jaime.

Once Dickon/Ben with girlfriend leaves, Dickon/Ben without girlfriend gets to gather his coat as well, while being escorted to the door by Brienne.

Once the door closes, the music starts to play, likely upon Brienne’s instruction, or so Jaime figures, and Tyrion makes some comments to loosen up the mood again, the party guests responding to that impetus quickly to go on as if nothing ever happened.

And once that fuss seems to have dissolved, so seems to have Brienne of Tarth.

“The woman’s got some sick moves,” Tyrion chuckles, twirling on his bar stool as Jaime’s eyes keep scanning. One should think that people can’t get lost in an apartment, specifically his own apartment, but Brienne seems to have mastered the arts of becoming completely invisible now.

“You mean to say?”

“I mean, I am not into that whole… _fighting thing_ , that’d be _your_ department, but she walked in as things escalated. Pod tried to make them stop and almost would’ve gotten a hook himself, so she just took that guy’s arm and flipped him to the ground. I mean, you saw the guy. He was not the likes of our dear coz. That takes not just some strength but also technique… but all the same, it was highly entertaining.”

“Highly entertaining?” Jaime repeats.

_What is entertaining about her possibly getting injured?!_

“Well, as for the Dothraki, it’s no good party unless someone dies, so maybe Westerosi parties are only successful once someone gets his ass handed to him.”

“I'd rather do without,” Jaime huffs.

“Did you manage a quick nookie on the rooftop now? Coz that’d explain her determination to bring that asshole down, to me at least,” Tyrion. “She seems like the type who’d be compensating.”

“I seriously should just take you to the rooftop to toss you down,” Jaime says.

“Why the dwarf tossing all the time?!” Tyrion pouts.

“Because that's what you do with naughty little dwarf brothers.”

“Me? Naughty? Naw.”

“You tell me, how long will this party continue?” Jaime asks, looking ahead.

The younger man just smirks at him. “You want some _alone-time_ , don't you? Well, not _completely_ alone, that is.”

“I also would like to have my apartment back, you know.”

“Well, my estimation… Maybe two to three more hours? I guess you played party pooper enough that people will take their leave soon, but one can never know. Some just like the champagne and the appetizers too much. Or the feel of your precious nubuck leather couch against their rears.”

“I will check tomorrow if there are any stains on it. If there are…,” Jaime says, but Tyrion interrupts him, holding up his hands. “Toss-the-Dwarf, I got it.”

“You tell me, brother, why aren’t you on the dancefloor, trying to hook someone up for the night?”

“I know too many of them too personally. Or business… ly,” the younger man replies with a grimace, looking at the crowd.

“That never hindered you before,” Jaime argues, but then he has an idea. “Or did Father catch you again?”

“… By the copying machines,” Tyrion sighs. “It was _so_ worth it. But yeah, I have to keep it low in that department at least for a while. I don’t want Father to send an assassin after me. We both know he would.”

“He definitely would,” Jaime agrees.

“So yeah, I just enjoy the display for tonight – and treat myself a visit down Silk Street with the guys tomorrow,” Tyrion announces happily.

“By ‘the guys’ you mean… Bronn,” Jaime huffs.

“It sounds better in plural. Because you loser never come along to make it a bunch,” Tyrion snorts.

“Not my kind of game.”

“Yeah, because your game are tall, blonde event manager ninja… women.”

“That was lamer than you thought it was.”

“I am drunk and it was still accurate.”

Jaime sighs as he leans back against the kitchen counter, twisting on his bar stool.

What apparently seems to help his cause is the fact that the power outages keep coming in short succession some minutes later. And while people dig glow sticks in the dark, as Jaime had to learn, once it stays out for fifteen minutes straight, people start to lose interest.

Because it’s only ever _Seven Minutes in Heaven_.

Therefore, most people have left one hour into the new year, likely to continue the party in some club down Eel Alley, and Jaime can’t deny that he is _quite_ happy about that circumstance. Especially since that reduces Brienne’s possibilities of hiding from him, which she does manage for a good amount of time nevertheless. He sees her every now and then, but before Jaime can even get to her, she is gone again, and Pod doesn’t seem to know where she is whenever he is being asked.

However, at last, _at last_ , even the last party people grab their coats and exit Jaime’s apartment, leaving a pleasant silence behind, safe for some of the staff packing up the food. And that means… she has to reemerge.

Brienne won’t even look at him as she approaches, her eyes firmly fixed on the clipboard she holds on to as though her life depended on it, making it even more of a holy grail as it likely was for her even before what happened on the rooftop.

“Ah, seems like I found you at last. I already thought you managed to completely disappear now,” Jaime says with a sly grin.

“… That’s… an art I didn’t master yet… In any case, uhm, we still have to clarify how you want to handle the cleaning up, since that is part of the package your brother booked… We can do that right now, though it’ll take us likely more than an hour to get that done. Or you can tell us a time tomorrow when it is convenient for you. Then we come by and clean everything up so that it looks just like it did when we came here. In case you want to go to sleep soon and don’t want us to interrupt you… or if you have other plans, such as going out. I don’t know. It’s up to you what you’d like best, Mr. Lannister.”

“Are we back to such formality again?”

“Apparently,” Brienne replies, still not daring to look at him.

“Hm. Well, I would rather have you do it tomorrow, well, _today_ , technically. Around twelve. I don’t plan on getting up too early in the morning.”

Brienne scribbles something on her clipboard. “Alright. Good. Uhm, will you be there yourself or will you go somewhere else? In case of the latter, I would then keep the key to your apartment that your brother gave us so that we can do the clean-up without you having to open up first,” Brienne rambles, eyes fixed on the clipboard.

“I think I’ll be there… I am _pretty_ sure of that, actually,” Jaime says with a grin.

“Okay,” Brienne mutters, scribbling some more, before she turns to the remaining staff. “Alright, we are leaving. Mr. Lannister wants to be alone now. Grab the boxes and put them in Hot Pie’s van. Thanks for the hard work and have a good night, everyone.”

The remaining waiters head out along with Hot Pie.

Brienne turns back to Jaime, her eyes flashing at him for the briefest of moments before going back down again. “Uhm, Mr. Lannister.”

“What happened to you calling me Jaime?” he asks another time.

“ _Mr. Lannister_ , I want to address one other matter before… uhm. Yeah,” she stutters, her fists nervously flexing.

“Yes, _Brienne_?” Jaime replies, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“I wanted to apologize,” she says, bowing her head.

“Apologize?” Jaime gapes.

_Now, that came unexpected._

“ _Yes_ , apologize. For my absolutely… unprofessional behavior that entire evening. That is not how I usually handle events, rest assured. Not once did I have an evening that was… so chaotic,” she says, but then shakes her head. “But it makes no difference. I have clearly overstepped the boundaries. I told you, my job is to keep in the background, which I did not do. I apologize for that.”

“Are you now referring to the kiss?” Jaime asks, hugging his arms, tilting his head to the right.

“That… Yes, that, too. But in general… I am sorry and I hope that you accept my apology because it’d be a pity if future bookings…,” Brienne rambles, but Jaime stops her. “You bet Tyrion will book you for the next parties as well. He likes your style.”

“That is… _in any case_ , I am sorry. That never should have happened. And…”

“Now wait a second, alright?” Jaime says, holding up his hands, taking one step closer. She looks at him, her eyes unnaturally wider.

“You are aware that _I_ was the one who initiated the kiss, correct? Because in case you did _not_ notice for _some_ reason, I was the one who took charge.”

“Well, uhm, yes, I am… _aware_. But I also know of King’s Landing’s traditions.”

“You… what?!”

“We don’t have that on Tarth, but it’s very common in the big cities of Westeros: If your partner at New Year’s Eve is amiss, the person next to you you may give a kiss. It’s custom specifically in King’s Landing that you kiss the person next to you, if you don’t have your spouse around.”

Jaime breaks out laughing at that.

“Uhm, I don’t know what was supposed to be funny about that remark just now.”

“The fact that you think I kissed you like _that_ because some stupid tradition that leads to kisses on the cheek and some fast smooches for the fun of it at best. That is actually hilarious. Especially considering the circumstance that I have obviously been flirting with you that whole evening.”

“Flirting,” she repeats, looking at him as though he just spoke in the tongue of the Dothraki.

“You _do_ know what that is, right?”

“Yes, I am… I know that. But… you were… flirting… with me?! Really?!” she asks, making a crooked grimace as though that statement in itself was a paradox.

“Wait, you were not aware of that?” Jaime gapes.

“Uhm, I know people the likes of you, who like to make certain comments. It’s not uncommon, you see. I didn’t think that… that you could be… earnest about that. I…,” she stammers, helplessly fidgeting for the right words that just won’t seem to come to her right at this moment.

“So… that whole evening you thought I was just _what_? Making friendly small talk?”

Maybe he really should have just followed through with pinning her against one of the wardrobes to make certain of it that she got that _implication_.

“You see, when I work, I am very focused on the task. I tend to block out… a lot of things, to keep sharp and focused on the job, so I am not even saying that it’s impossible that I missed something… of that sort. But even if not… just why would you flirt with me in the first place?!”

“Why would I friggin’ not?!”

Brienne gestures at her face. “I know what is there that may potentially make guys flirt with me, and that isn’t much. It’s not rule that guys flirt with me, much less…,” she says, but then stops herself.

“Well, as you have been proven some many times tonight, rules don’t always apply,” Jaime huffs.

“You mean that.”

“Uhm, let’s recap on how much effort I made to keep around you, even if you little minx tried to steal away from me that whole damn evening.”

“Even if I had realized… your intentions… be sure that this wouldn’t have prevented me from doing my job,” Brienne tells him stubbornly.

“Oh Seven Hells,” he cries out, running his fingers through his hair.

“And I mean, I would understand. As far as I am concerned, you had a few drinks. Then that happens, it’s…”

“I had a bit of champagne and three glasses of Whiskey. And Lannisters are born with strong livers, or else my siblings would both be long since dead. I can hold my liquor well, so I am anything but intoxicated at this stage. So are you still denying that I was flirting with you in all earnest?”

“I…”

“Okay, what’s missing here? I said I was flirting. I have initiated a kiss. And apparently, you have kissed back, that much I can say for certain. Just what, by the Seven, is going on here?!”

“I thought it was just one-sided,” Brienne says, almost shouts.

“Huh?”

“I… do I really have to say it? I wouldn’t have kissed back if I wasn’t… but I thought it was just me. I thought I was just seeing things at some point and… but then you kissed me and… I forgot myself for a moment. Because I am still your employee, well, your brother’s technically, and this is… this is just such a mess.”

“Quite an understatement, but I share the notion, I suppose. This really is a mess.”

“Look, I am… incredibly bad with these kinds of things, so… I hope we can just forget about this and put it to rest. Yes?” she says, looking at him for a moment, but then tearing her gaze back down to suddenly focus her attention back on the clipboard of wonder. “I, I will obviously return the suit jacket and the shirt to you once I have brought it to the dry cleaner’s. I hope to get it done before we come to pack up the remains of the party, but I don’t know how it will fit into schedule with…”

She still keeps looking at the clipboard even when Jaime covers the distance between them with two fast strides, only to snap the thing from her and fling it halfway across the room.

“HEY!” she cries out. “What was that for?”

“I want you to look at me now, Brienne.”

“For that you didn’t have to throw my clipboard across the room,” she points out drily, still looking at the abandoned clipboard on the marble floor.

“I thought it’d be a dramatic gesture,” Jaime argues, a bit at a loss all of a sudden.

_In the movies, that is the dramatic sort of moment that makes the woman sling her arms around the protagonist to pull him in for a kiss._

“No, you just flung a clipboard across the room, and as you proved with the champagne bottle, you tend to have a poor aim,” Brienne points out to him.

For a woman that shy and awkward most of the time, she has a surprisingly sarcastic side to herself that Jaime appreciates more and more as he keeps discovering it.

“Aha, there she is again,” he chuckles, relieved to finally see that part of Brienne resurfacing.

“Who?” Brienne frowns at him.

“ _You_ , the woman desperate to hide behind the clipboard.”

“I was not _hiding_. For that, I’d need a much bigger one,” Brienne snorts, gesturing down the length of her body.

“You are hiding, even now,” Jaime argues, cupping her chin to force her gaze away from her shoes to meet his gaze instead. “And I would rather have you not, because I want you to understand what I’m saying, and I am afraid that you will miss the message _yet again_ if you keep distracting yourself with bookings and ticking off what seems like an infinite assembly of boxes.”

He can feel a soft quiver running through her as his fingers hold her chin, and it would be a lie to deny that this further assures him that he wants more of that.

_All of that._

“For that, you still didn’t have to fling my clipboard away,” she argues, withdrawing from his touch, much to Jaime’s disappointment.

“I don’t think the clipboard was severely injured in the process, my lady,” Jaime sighs, rolling his eyes, but a split second later, his tone and eyes are back to severity as he focuses on her – or else Brienne won’t ever understand. “So now that I have your undivided attention…”

“Yes?” she sighs.

“I will repeat myself another time to make myself clear.”

“Or just because you like to hear your own voice?” Brienne huffs. Jaime laughs. “Ha, that, too, I suppose. But no. I want to stress another time that _I_ initiated the kiss on the rooftop.”

“And I am aware of that, it’s just that I am aware of the traditions and that…,” she means to say, but Jaime doesn’t let finish the thought. “I give a rat’s shit on traditions of that sort. That’s _not_ why I did it. I did it because I thought it was one of the scattered opportunities I had that night because you kept slipping away the whole time… or some disaster happened. I thought I might chance it. If not, be sure I wouldn’t have flirted with you. Because yes, I did. Even if it appears that my charm didn’t lead to the desired results I had in mind. Maybe I just got rusty, I don’t know.”

She lets out a dry laugh. “This is ridiculous, no. That is… you don’t know me, I don’t know you. That whole evening was a mess and I made a complete fool of myself, how many times? I know what a deal breaker is, and if it isn’t my face, it’s being the figure of ridicule thanks to a surprise champagne shower or the latest the moment guys see that I can knock them into the dust if need be. _That_ is the rule. That is how this goes. Guys the likes of you don’t… that just doesn’t happen.”

“There are no men like me.”

“As you keep repeating,” she snorts.

“And still you won’t believe me,” Jaime argues.

“ _Yes_ , because that is just… not how it goes, no matter what kind of a _unique_ man you are,” Brienne retorts.

“It already went like that, on the rooftop, so let’s stop pretending. Look, if I wasn’t interested, I wouldn’t have kissed you. If I wasn’t interested, I wouldn’t have told Tyrion to take Pod along in his cab to see the lad home because he usually rides with you in the van…,” Jaime says, his voice trailing off, only to be cut off harshly by the blonde woman in front of him, “You did WHAT?!”

“You heard me. And hey, you can see this as me being a responsible adult who is apparently not being a dick to lads like Pod just because he wants some alone  time with you. Give me some credit here.”

“I won’t give you credit for just making decisions on my behalf without consulting me and…,” Brienne rambles. Jaime rolls his eyes. “You mean not doing things how you had them originally planned?”

“Essentially? Yes?”

“Geez, woman, just how much more convincing do I have to do until you believe me that I am sincere? I mean, I know _some_ ways to prove you just that, but…,” Jaime says, but yet again she cuts him off with a shout, “Shut your mouth!”

“I just don’t get it. You admitted that you were _very much_ willing to return the kiss. I just said that I wanted to kiss you in all earnest… just what is the problem here? Because I really fail to figure at this point.”

Brienne looks around.

“I don't think the answer is on your clipboard, just so that you know,” he tells her.

“One can never know,” she huffs with a shy smile.

“Hm, I dare take a bet on that one and say that you don’t have a section for that purpose on your magical list,” Jaime says, covering more of the distance between them. Brienne tries to back away from him, but lucky for Jaime, she finds herself trapped between him and the kitchen counter slash bar in high-luster Lannister red. “Whereas I, by contrast, have something on _my_ list.”

“List?” she stammers, the air catching in her throat.

“New Year’s resolutions. I told you, I am _very_ sincere about these.”

Brienne just looks at him, her big eyes even more vibrant and brilliant as they are caught between fright and something Jaime cannot put his finger on other than that this strange, blue mixture is absolutely intoxicating, maddening, making him crave for more.

_All of it. Every single bit of it._

He simply traps her between the bar stools, the counter, and himself before she can start to ponder the what ifs and maybes, to claim her lips that bring him to a frenzy almost in the same instant their mouths meet, as though electricity ebbed from her body right into his and back again.

To his surprise, the resistance from Brienne’s side is so very fleeting that it takes mere seconds before she leans into his touch, breathes into his mouth as both deepen the kiss, exploring, getting to know.

Her hands are frantic and uncertain for a few seconds as they hover over his body, but the longer they kiss, the more he presses against her, the more that uncertainty seems to leave her limbs and is replaced by a surprising sort of certainty as her left hand comes to rest on his hip while the other tousles through the hair of the back of his head, pulling in the most delicious ways that only spur Jaime on in turn.

Maybe Tyrion was right about it having been far too long since he’s had the last encounter of that sort – but considering the intensity of the moment, Jaime reckons it may have been worth the wait if that is the yield.

Because he could drown in this now, and would die perhaps the happiest man in all of Westeros.

The moment they have to break apart to catch their breaths feels like loss for a moment, but the fact that Brienne leans her forehead against his shoulder as her chest is heaving is strangely rewarding – because she doesn’t shy away from him, or Gods forbid, makes a run for it yet again.

“First New Year’s resolution of the year can officially be ticked off my list,” Jaime says between hiccups of air burning down his throat into his aching lungs.

“You have odd resolutions,” she says between puffs of air leaving wet, warm spots on his neck where her mouth is only inches from his skin.

“But I only have the ones I live by,” Jaime says with an easy smile. “I hope that this… gave gravitas to my words, yes?”

The small laugh escaping her lips is about as endearing as it is maddening him.

That woman is a mystery in itself, and Jaime wants to solve it, that curious interplay between tough, overly-organized businesswoman, yet caring and encouraging boss, mindful of everyone but herself, awkwardly hiding behind work, glow sticks and clipboards, slipping away as though she was the tiniest creature on earth, only to re-emerge as an Amazon that can eve wrestle a bulky guy the likes of Dickon/Ben to the ground, self-conscious so long it is about her field of expertise, but awkward and uncertain once she walks unknown terrains.

He wants to solve it, get to the very bottom of it. Because rarely do event managers of that sort manage to evade his thoughts and body to the point that he follows her around for an entire evening, with only just that one thing in the back of the mind, to kiss her, to hold her close, to claim those lips…

_And more._

“I didn’t get an answer yet,” Jaime says.

“Yes, I… I understood. You mean it,” she says. “For _whatever_ the reason that may be.”

He cups her chin gently this time to make her focus on him. Their gazes rest on one another for a long moment in which no word is spoken, and Jaime only starts to move again once he sees a change in the way she looks at him that makes him certain that she understood.

Understood that he doesn’t want her to talk in such a way about herself.

For some reason understood it without him having to say it, actually.

The woman is better at reading people than she gives herself credit for it, as it appears.

Jaime presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, and this time Brienne is the one taking that tender kiss a step further as she tilts her head to have his lips fully back on hers.

The kiss quickly deepens to the point that they are breathing hard into each other’s mouths as they continue their quest of exploring these unknown territories, gaining familiarity so not to slip or fall along the way, memorizing the paths.

Brienne lets out a yelp of surprise against the corners of his mouth when his left hand starts to squeeze the taut muscles of her thighs, whereas the other sneaked under her (well, technically _his_ ) shirt to let his fingers dance over the hollow of her back, which is music to Jaime’s ears. He growls as he kisses down her neck.

He presses impossibly more against her, savoring the sensation of her rubbing against him, the small quiver in her ribcage resonating through her entire body, right into his own.

“I think now would be the time to move on to my next New Year’s resolution,” he ground out, half of his face buried in the nape of her neck, making Brienne shiver involuntarily.

_It's maddening, so very maddening. All of her is._

It drives him crazy and Jaime loves the frenzy.  

“And I am just to comply, you mean to say?” she asks, a bit to his surprise. As much as she responds to every of his touches and as much as she teases reactions of out him in turn, he thought that there would be no more than a nod or her letting herself pulled along.

_But not so with Brienne of Tarth, as it appears._

“It’d be _very_ much appreciated,” Jaime says with a teasing grin dancing over his lips. “And what was that about you wanting do everything according to my wishes.”

“Ha, that referred to the _job_. And you yourself said that we should no longer consider this employer and employee relationship,” Brienne argues with that wicked kind of smirk that Jaime learns to love ever the more whenever he sees it flash across her face, though it is now ever the more delicious, with the bright blush on her freckled cheeks and bruised lips, slightly parted, teasing, inviting. “And you must know, I never do such a thing with my customers.”

“Don’t you think we can make some exception to that set of rules of yours?” he asks with a grin.

“I don’t change those rules, no,” Brienne says.

“Hm, well, then we must find an agreement without the confines of this being a business relationship,” Jaime concludes, his voice calm, though he can barely contain himself, wanting, need to kiss her lips again, her neck… _and more_.

“And what is your plan to achieve such?” Brienne asks, doing her best to keep the tone similar, though Jaime can still hear the quiver in her chest whenever she speaks.

_So maddening._

“I try not to make too many plans,” Jaime says with a grin. “In fact, I believe that a plan would be counterproductive to the cause.”

He squeezes her thigh another time, eliciting the most delicious of moans from her lips, though Brienne knows better than to just give away at this point.

_That woman doesn’t yield easily. That much is for sure._

And Jaime could get lost in the occasional, becoming increasingly more frequent moments of security in herself, as though the awkwardness melts away from her with every second passing between their heated bodies.

“Sometimes the goal is actually about the discovery, you know?” Jaime goes on. “For that, you can’t make up a plan, I fear.”

“Well, I, by contrast, appreciate a well-developed plan, I must say.”

“Oh, I may manage to convince you of the opposite,” Jaime argues, pressing against her with need that seems to seep right into her in turn. “Though I am afraid I have to urge you on the matter. It’s a rather _pressing_ issue.”

Brienne lets a yelp once he presses enough against her to underline his point.

“That was not at all smooth, just so that you know,” Brienne says in a strained voice, betraying her slightly.

“As you keep saying,” he snorts, amused. “Though judging by your reaction, smooth enough anyway.”

Brienne opens her mouth in reply, but covers her mouth with hers – because this does indeed grow into a pressing matter with every second passing – and starts to pull her away from the kitchen, over to where he wants her. Needs her.

They awkwardly waltz their way across the former dancefloor, now only just the marble floor without any sort of golden glow as the lights are out and only the blue sheen of the moon illuminates them, craving contact, craving each other, fidgeting, holding on no matter the awkwardness of the moment… or overall situation, for the matter.

Reaching the bedroom feels like the fulfillment of Jaime’s New Year’s miracle, only to be stopped by a rather queer discovery.

“… What the Seven Hells is that on my bed?”

“Some jackets,” Brienne points out drily.

“I thought you had that room specifically not open for people to leave their ugly coats everywhere.”

“I did. I locked the door before the guests came. But… did you lock it when you came back out of the dressing room?”

“I was supposed to lock it?” he cries out.

“You were the last in there?”

“I swear to the Seven above that if that Toyboy-what’s-his-face had some sweet time with the Dragon Lady on my bed, I will punch him in the dick the next time I see him,” Jaime snarls.

“I don’t think they would have left only just the coats.”

“Who knows what else they forgot! Who knows what else they left! Oh by the Warrior. What if they… on _my bed_?!”

“I am pretty sure she had another coat,” Brienne argues.

“I don't care, someone other than me may have been fucking someone on my bed. _My bed_. My bedroom! My apartment! Oh by the Seven, someone may have creamed on my Myrish silk covers.”

“You have quite an obsession about your furniture and décor, you know.”

“I could care less about that, but I care about someone fucking someone – on my bed,” he tells her. “I think I have to burn the sheets now. Maybe the entire bed.”

“At least do it outside. Or else the whole complex will catch fire,” she tells him drily.

“You have a good laugh about this for as long as you can, woman.”

“I still think that no one did anything in here. It seems more likely to me that someone put the coats there because the guest room we chose for the wardrobe was perhaps a little packed?”

“I cannot count on such hypothetical scenarios, woman. The mere possibility that someone may have left their love juices here…”

“The bed looks pretty neat to me still.”

“Well, maybe they didn’t fuck on my bed but on my shelf. Or my floor. Maybe just the spot we two stand on right now. You don't think they would have fucked in my dressing room, right? I don't want to throw all of those suits away!”

“You could also consider just having them… washed, in case? And again, there is no sure way of telling that anyone did anything in here other than forgetting their coats.”

“Well, at least I have evidence. The people will miss their coats. They will come for them. And if it turns out to be one of the guys I have in mind, I can smack them so hard.”

“For forgetting their coats?”

“For potentially fucking in my apartment? I should be the only one fucking the person of my choosing in my apartment. That is one of the few rules I have.”

“Oh, so we don’t come around rules after all,” she huffs.

“That is an essential one.”

“Maybe get a sign ‘Only _Jaime Lannister gets fuck in here. Keep out_ ’?”

“I might, upon reflection.”

“Oh Gods.” Brienne groans.

“Hey, it wouldn’t look the almost bad over the bed, golden font, maybe in metal… well, gold of course, but maybe painted with red? That might work.”

“So I am laughable for freaking out at a party being a mess, but you get to freak out at the mere _possibility_ that someone may have had some fun times in your apartment, for which we have no proof other than two forgotten coats?”

“Those are two totally different things.”

“Right,” she snorts.

“But I think there is a solution to that problem,” Jaime then says.

“Torching the apartment on New Year’s Eve is hopefully not on your agenda.”

“I still may have to, but until then – I guess the only way to resolve the problem is that we two decontaminate that whole room.”

“Disinfect the whole thing? I think that goes a little too far,” Brienne argues. “And I don’t think I want to.”

She squeals as he presses against her all of a sudden.

“I was not thinking of _disinfectant_ primarily. I just guess we have to make out… everywhere here to be sure.”

“You want to mark your territory like a dog.”

“A lion.”

“You have to be kidding me.”

Another squeal as his hands start roaming – a lot, _and deeper_.

“Oh, on the contrary. I am very severe on the matter. Trust me in this, my lady, on those matters I am actually _deadly_ serious. We still have a whole night to spare.”

“So you have a plan now after all?” she snorts.

“Ha, perhaps an agenda, but _how_ we get there… that is up to us,” he says in a low voice. “As I said, I am very sincere about New Year’s resolutions the same way. And I do mean to stand up to that promise.”

“You talk too much,” Brienne sighs before kissing him.

What follows his a more or less friendly if heated banter about where to go and where to move, and some heavy debate about what to do about the possibly “contaminated” covers.

And all of that after a party Jaime didn’t know he would host at is apartment – and actually didn’t want to host for a large part of the evening.

_Some New Year’s miracle indeed – if such a thing even exists._

Though, judging by how things played out by the end of the evening, how they still play out as the two get to know each other, explore each other, break some rules while making up new ones as they go, there might be something to Tyrion’s words after all.

_A miracle indeed. If an odd one._

Coming with so many plans that were sent overboard.

And some many new plans still left unspoken.

* * *

 

Jaime wakes up to the sound of the clattering of and chattering. He pries his eyes open slowly, blinking against the harsh sunlight evading his eyes. Jaime moans as he leans back to shield his eyes with his arm.

_What a night._

He shifts, taking in his surroundings as the flashes of memories return to him, of Brienne pressed flush against him in the most glorious of ways as they continued their little-big exploration.

Though considering the way his limbs ache, if pleasantly so, that was a rather big, long exploration after all, holding her, holding her close.

_Through some many parts of the bedroom after all._

Jaime chuckles, still feeling a bit lightheaded. He is not sure at what point they actually ended up in bed, though Jaime vaguely recalls Brienne getting rid of the possibly contaminated covers so fast that he didn’t know what was happening until her mouth was back on his and he forgot to ask about that magic trick of hers.

He sits up, running his fingers through his unkempt hair, licking lips, the faint taste of her still on them.

_Speaking of…_

Jaime turns, surprised to find no one else but himself in the bed. He reckoned Brienne would most definitely still be sleeping like a stone after that night of _exercise_. And at some point, Jaime fancied the idea of having her wake up to flash a lazy sort of smile at him soon ebbing into the sweetest of moans he got to know by now, once he kissed her cheek or neck, _or maybe further down below_ …

But no such luck, as it appears.

Jaime glances around to catch something on the nightstand. He frowns as he picks up the small tray with a glass of orange juice, a small packet that reveals itself to be some aspirin, and a note. Jaime easily balances the tray over to the other side to take the orange juice, relishing the small burn of the sour taste as it pours down his throat.

_Freshly squeezed. Not the crappy stuff from the carton._

With his other hand, he takes up the note, lips still wrapped around the glass.

_Good morning,_

_Some orange juice and aspirin for you, just in case._  
We already started cleaning up,  
so I’d advise you to wear something accordingly.  
Or just stay in bed, whichever you prefer.  


_P.S.: The coats were forgotten by some of the waiters._  
And I can confirm that they are not together – at all.  
So you don’t have to torch the whole building.

_Brienne_

Jaime chuckles to himself as he takes another sip.

That woman is most definitely full of surprises. He’s never gotten such a note, specifically from the woman he spent the night with.

Once the glass is empty, Jaime swings his legs out of bed and puts on fresh boxers, jeans, and a loose, low-cut v-neck shirt in crimson, only to find himself in a moment of déjà-vu as people roam through his apartment, just that this time, they remove the stuff instead of carting it into his loft.

In the middle of it stands Brienne of Tarth, clipboard in hand, instructing and coordinating.

Jaime is a bit surprised that she is now in a blue shirt with dress pants, which are most definitely not his.

She only catches sight of him once he is a few feet away from her.

“I thought I said that you are supposed to come by around noon?”

“I reckoned that we might just as well begin before that,” she tells him.

“Hm, and you didn’t consider consulting me on the matter before?” he huffs.

“I would have, but you were… like a corpse,” Brienne tells him in a lower voice so that no one else around catches that bit.

“Who could blame me after we two fu…,” he means to say, but she cuts him off rather harshly, “Shush now.”

 _Yeah, no_ , definitely _not_ how he envisioned the morning after.

“What? Don’t they have an idea that you and I…”

“I don’t see how. Pod, yes, thanks to you, but the rest? For all _they_ know, I called them up to come here with thirty minutes to tidy up. Pod came by in fifteen, so that he could bring me spare clothes from our storage in the office. That means I could welcome them as though I had only just arrived,” Brienne tells him with an air of pride in her voice.

“I didn’t know you were such a dirty little liar, Brienne,” Jaime chuckles.

“On the contrary, I just don't want people to make assumptions.”

“Assumptions? About us?” he asks in a teasing voice.

“Assumptions about the sort of arrangement concerning the job itself. As I said, I keep those things strictly apart. It will only take some ten more minutes before we are done. And then everything will be back to how it was. Oh, and I managed to get a hold of an electrician to take a look at the junction box. It’s fixed now. So you don’t have to worry about the light again. The clothes you lend me are already packed up to go to the laundry and should be returned to you within the next two days. And I checked your couch for damage, there is nothing, absolutely nothing,” Brienne says, right back to running down the lists.

“You are right back to the game, huh?” he snorts.

“That’s my kind of magic,” she sighs.

“Nah, I can say for certain that you have a much more interesting magic,” Jaime mutters in a dark voice, pleased to see the momentary shiver running through her.

“Not here. Not now,” she quips.

“Why not?” he argues.

“I told you.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously.”

“So what am I to do?”

“You can resume your position on the couch like yesterday? You made least trouble there,” Brienne points out to him. Jaime gapes at her. “I made _least trouble_? Does that mean you only sat me for that reason?”

Brienne rolls her shoulders, making him laugh.

And here he thought that was the special treatment for the special guests!

“And here I thought you did it out of care, you wound me, Brienne. You even brought me drinks and food!”

“That is all part of the package. Now stop feeling so special about yourself – at that stage, you were a customer like any other,” Brienne argues, though Jaime can see the tease in her eyes, washing over her entire face.

“A customer like any other?” he repeats. “As far as you let me know, I got quite a special treatment later on after all.”

“Sit down now.”

“Oh, you just wait until the little leprechauns are gone, Brienne of Tarth. You just wait,” Jaime tells her, waving his index finger at her.

“Be a good customer and sit still, hm?”

“Will you fix me some iced tea?” Jaime chuckles.

“If you behave?”

“Behave,” Jaime repeats, leaning his head back.

That woman enjoys those games much more than she lets on.

“Ms. Tarth? Can you help me with the light another time?” someone calls out.

“Of course,” Brienne replies, walking away to do so.

That is _most definitely not_ the morning after Jaime had envisioned. Not even in the slightest. He was hoping for some lazy morning routine, lying next to each other, having loose conversation, letting his hands wander, pressing a kiss to her lips here and there to see her eyes light up along with the fire in her cheeks whenever he does it, with a bit of making out, obviously.

_Or more than that. Obviously._

Though Jaime has to give Brienne that much, her timing is superb, as is the iced tea she brought him some five minutes after their conversation. As promised, no ten minutes later, the room is cleared and Jaime, if he didn’t know what was there last night, would think that no party ever took place here, that this is just like he left it yesterday when he went to the conference meeting.

Just like that… the loft is empty, no traces of the chaos from last night, safe for the tall blonde woman doing another check-up as she roams through the rooms another time.

“So? Are we done yet?” Jaime calls out once Brienne maneuvers back into the living room, ticking some boxes with a content sigh ebbing into a small smile. Her eyes fix on him as she makes a few, suddenly surprisingly hesitant steps towards him.

“Well, everything is cleaned up and I made sure another time that there are no stranger’s clothes around your apartment that may lead to you having to torch the whole thing.”

“Which is ever the more appreciated. I like my apartment. Would be a pity to have to burn it down, not that I am too fond of fire in the first place,” Jaime chuckles. “Has everyone else left by now?”

“Uhm, yes, apparently. Jon takes Pod back home. It’s on the way to his apartment anyway. And the rest is eager to get back to the holidays,” Brienne replies.

“I imagine.”

“Well, they get good money for it, so they don’t get to complain,” Brienne snorts.

“So, since we are alone, I think it’d be now appropriate to say that I was not at all pleased to wake up in an empty bed.”

“I thought it’d be the best to get over with this quickly,” Brienne argues. “And I don't have to stick to your morning routine, do I?”

“My, you are combative this morning,” Jaime sighs. “I was more thinking along the lines of easing into the day, breakfast in bed… then _actual_ breakfast in bed.”

“Oh Gods,” Brienne sighs, rolling her big blue eyes in annoyance. Jaime chuckles, because she can’t fool him anymore – he can see the blush that comes along with it. No matter how much she tries to hide it behind her utter abashment.

“In the night, you were _much_ more _open_ to the matter, quite literally so.”

“Don't make me punch you in the nose,” she threatens him.

“What? You bereave me of the good things that come with a morning after – and then I don't even get to make some comments? C’mon, woman, you should know me better by now.”

“I still know you very little,” Brienne points out to him.

“But you know me in the most intimate way already,” Jaime argues with a dark grin.

“Will you quit already?”

“What do you think?”

“That's a no, then. _So anyway_ , I think I should head out as well. Then you can ease into the new year all you want,” Brienne says abruptly, leaving Jaime frowning.

She changed the game – and he does not like it.

“Is it that you are trying to get away from me, Brienne of Tarth?” he teases.

“Perhaps?”

“You wound me.”

“I just don’t want to awkwardly prolong this,” Brienne tells him. “That’s all.”

“Prolong what?” Jaime frowns.

“Saying goodbye, returning to… life. Letting the bubble pop, hm?”

“I must say I quite like the bubble. That is to say, I grew incredibly fond of it.”

“Whatever,” Brienne snorts, walking over to her bag to stuff her clipboard into it, only to shoulder the thing in one swift motion. “Well, real life is calling, I suppose. Uhm… I think I said I am incredibly bad with these kinds of things…”

“You man human interaction?”

“Ha. Right. No, just that… sort of conversation. I am normally not the type to…”

“To what?”

“To have one-night stands and the like. So I will try to talk as little as possible or else I will just go on talking about this in an awkward manner… which I already do.”

“Hold on,” Jaime says, getting up.

“Oh, c’mon now. Don’t make this even harder for me,” Brienne exhales.

But Jaime doesn’t stop until he is in front of her, cups the side of face to pull her lips to his. Not surprisingly this time around, Brienne’s mouth responds far easier than it does once she talks with it, easing to his touches as though it was the most calming force to her distress in moments such as these.

Jaime pulls away with a grin creeping up his lips. “So, to clarify things from my side now, after you already took your turn: I do hope that this will not just stay a one-night stand, in which case you definitely don’t get off the hook that easily, Brienne. I thought I made that clear.”

He spent so much effort on getting to the point – Jaime shall be damned if he just lets this slip away.

 _Seven Hells_ , there was ice on his crotch.

“You made clear that you flirted and meant the kiss and were open to… what followed. I got that part. But I also know that…,” she means to say, but Jaime cuts her off. “Okay, we will make a new arrangement right now, whatever rules you think apply to men you formerly dated don't apply to me.”

“How would you know?”

“Because whenever you start to ramble like that, it leads to misunderstandings, and as I told you…,” he says, but this time she cuts him off with a roll of her eyes, “Don't say it.”

“But you grasped the meaning? Yes? Good. So, you have the rights of it that we still have to get to know each other. Therefore, I will suggest to you my next New Year’s resolution.”

“Which would be?”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner,” she repeats in a flat voice.

“You do know what that is, right?”

“I arranged for more dinners than you can likely count,” Brienne snorts.

“Ever the better! Then that means it’s something you are not entirely unfamiliar with, which should make you feel much more secure about yourself, correct?”

She looks at him for a longer moment, seemingly surprised by his words, which seemingly didn’t miss the target.

“But this comes with a few conditions. Rules. You love rules, don’t you?”

“Which would be?” she asks.

“I will invite you. We can arrange for the date to find a suitable time for us both of course. But you don’t get to organize anything. You will leave everything up to me. I will handle it, all of it.”

“Which is ridiculous because I have really good connections to the best of restaurants in all of King’s Landing. As I said, I have done this a good number of times before. It’d actually be far easier…,” she says, but he interrupts her, “Nah-ah. I insist.”

“Well, what if I insist, too?” she argues.

“You still don't want to let go of the control here, do you?” he chuckles, amused.

Man, does he love a challenge, he has to realize yet again.

“I don’t like to yield,” she replies simply.

“I realized.”

“Neither do you.”

“See? We do have a lot in common!”

“How about you pick the restaurant and I make the reservation?” Brienne bargains.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“You will have to trust me.”

“With dinner arrangements,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, if it brings you to bargain to me, it surely requires you a lot of effort to trust me with this, so yes. You will have to trust me.”

“Any other rules I have to bear in mind?” Brienne exhales.

“No other rules, no,” Jaime assures her.

“Mhm, that’s still rich coming from the guy who told me to let go of the rules. For that, you happen to have a lot of them,” Brienne points out to him.

“Maybe you just rub off on me already?” he suggests.

“Yeah, right.”

“Well, I am just glad to know that we agreed to the date therefore,” Jaime then says with a wicked smirk. Brienne’s eyes open wide. “What? No, I didn’t say yes!”

“You already _bargained_ with me. That means you want to go on the date, or else you never would have done so!”

“If you think you can just trick me into a date like that, then you are mistaken,” she retorts.

“Oh, I would never mean to trick you,” Jaime argues, stepping closer, his green eyes glowering darkly. “But I think I can very well _convince_ you.”

His arm snakes around her thick hip, and his lips are met by hers without him even having to take the initiative.

The bag falls to the ground with a thud.

“Just so that you know, you haven’t played me.”

“I would never, I told you.”

“Stop that with the smug smile.”

“The smile is not smug.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What do you think of kitchen counter sex?”

“Disgusting because you make food in there? Unless you fancy disinfecting the whole room afterwards?”

“You take the fun out of things.”

“Such thinking comes with the job.”

“Couch?”

“Whoa, so you get to do such things on your couch? But you rip other people’s windpipes out for it?”

“Of course, it’s my couch.”

“You are a little possessive, don’t you think?”

“Hm, so long I can call you mine, I can get very possessive.”

“If you think this was good flirting, you are mistaken. Small wonder I didn’t realize your advances. You suck at this.”

“I can _suck_ at other things, if you behave.”

“Oh, by the Seven.”

“They won’t help you on that matter.”

“You know, I think I really should go back to the office…,” she says in a teasing voice, but he pulls her back when she means to withdraw from him. “You are not going anywhere. I have just decided that we are having dinner today.”

“Oh, so I don't get to leave the whole day.”

“We will have a manifold-course menu, I’d suggest. That can take a whole day.”

“And I don’t get a say in that?”

“I am afraid you don’t.”

“Well, I guess it can’t be helped then. I have to stick to the rules, don’t I?”

“Oh, I think we just have to find our own rules… and then break them anyway.”

 

_The End_


End file.
